Final Sail

“Is Blossom still sleeping alone?” Helen asked.

“So far as I can tell,” Phil said. “Arthur’s dressing room was still empty. I didn’t see another toothbrush and the seat was down on the toilet.”

“Always a giveaway,” Helen said. “What did Blossom buy at Grisette’s?”

“They sure weren’t mourning dresses,” Phil said. “They made her club clothes look like something she’d wear to tea with the queen. She bought a silky coral number with major holes—on-purpose holes.”

“Cutouts, I think they’re called,” Helen said.

“That dress will leave all her back and most of her front bare. She bought a hot pink sequin something I guess was a dress. I’ve seen bigger scarves. I left the bag on her bed.

“Blossom was waiting for me downstairs in the den in a tight black top and those painted-on jeans. She’d draped herself over the rosewood bar. Her conversation was full of innuendos. She asked me to make her a manhattan. ‘I’m not a good bartender,’ I said.

“‘I’m sure you’re good at everything, Phil,’ she said. Then she brushed against me. It didn’t feel like an accident.”

“Maybe she needs a visit from her minister,” Helen said, fighting back her fury.

“No, no,” Phil said. “I might learn something this way.”

“Like what a slut she is?” Helen asked.

“Trust me,” Phil said. “She’ll let her guard down.”

“As long as she keeps her clothes on,” Helen said.

“She’s no competition,” Phil said. “I should be worried about you in that hot uniform alone on a yacht. Some millionaire might carry you off.” He kissed her again.

“Hey, you two, stop that! Quit smooching out here in front of God and everybody!”

Helen and Phil saw a suntanned man in a Hawaiian shirt smiling and waving.

“Max, you old pirate,” Phil said. “Since when did you confuse yourself with God? Meet my wife, Helen Hawthorne.”

Max barely reached Helen’s shoulder. He was barrel-chested with short, powerful arms. Helen estimated his age at sixty-something. He wore a shark’s tooth on a thick gold chain and a chunky pinkie ring with a square-cut emerald.

The sun caught his ring and it glittered with green fire.

“Max Crutchley,” he said, crushing Helen’s hand. “Ol’ Phil got himself a babe.”

They followed a thin pale-haired hostess past tables filled with diners to a glass-topped table overlooking the wide, sandy beach.

“Best view in the house,” Helen said.

They watched a hefty, sunburned man stumble past the window with a sloshing foam cup.

“I could do without him,” Max said. “But that blonde in the bikini is easy on the eyes.”

“I meant the ocean,” Helen said.

“Sure you did,” Max said. “That’s a pretty muscular example of ocean life under the palm tree.”

Phil snickered.

“I thought we could talk private-like back here,” Max said. “My usual beer dives are okay for Phil, but not for a lady.”

Phil winked at her. Max was definitely old-school, Helen thought.

A waiter appeared and Max and Phil ordered beer and burgers. Helen wanted a club soda and the seafood stir-fry.

“Let me get you a real drink, Helen,” Max said.

“Thanks, but I have to report to the yacht right after dinner. That’s why I’m in uniform.”

“You make one hell of a sailor,” Max said.

After the waiter left, Helen said, “Phil told me you’re a diver.”

“Used to be,” Max said. “Bad ticker now. Can’t dive anymore. Felt like they cut off my arm when the doc said no more. I loved diving, the riskier the better. Had a few close encounters with sharks, but it’s beautiful down there. More honest, too. Easier to spot the sharks.”

“They wear suits on land,” Phil said.

“What do you want to know about emeralds, Helen?” Max asked. “Phil says you’re working a smuggling case. Should you let your lady do something that dangerous, Phil?”

Helen bridled at that, but Phil put his hand over hers, a warning to let him talk. “I don’t ‘let’ Helen do anything, Max. She does what she wants. She can handle herself. Our client needs a woman operative.”

“I’m hired to find a smuggler who’s part of the yacht crew,” Helen said. “The captain found a box of emeralds hidden on his ship on his last trip. By the time he went back for the stones, they were gone.”

“Cut or uncut emeralds?” Max asked.

“Cut stones.”

“Smart.” Max nodded approval. “Uncut emeralds only have potential value because they can have flaws called inclusions. I was witness to the cutting of a large emerald. Thanks to an unseen inclusion in a potential hundred-thousand-dollar gemstone, the value dropped dramatically during the procedure. Where does this yacht sail?”

“Mainly to the Bahamas and other Caribbean islands,” Helen said.

“I’m guessing this is originating in the Bahamas,” Max said. “Been a smugglers’ haven since the old pirate days. How long has this smuggling been going on?”

“The captain doesn’t know,” Helen said. “As soon as he found the stones, he hired us.”

“So he’s a straight arrow?” Max asked.

“Absolutely,” Helen said.

The waiter arrived with monster plates of food. Max covered his burger and fries with a bloodbath of ketchup. Phil poured ketchup and hot sauce on his. Helen nibbled on her stir-fry.

Max looked around to make sure there were no eavesdropping waiters and the other diners were busy with their own conversations.

“It’s likely these emeralds are transported to the Bahamas by yacht,” Max said. “Yacht traffic emerging from Latin America is monitored by the U.S. Coast Guard in Bahamian waters and by the United States Army in the Caribbean. I was aboard a treasure-hunting boat in Bahamian waters just north of Havana. We received a lot of attention from a Coast Guard cutter. Had machine guns aimed at us.”

“Any reason the Coast Guard would be interested?” Phil asked.

“Of course not,” Max said, playing with the emerald ring on his little finger. Helen thought that gave him away.

“Oh, hell, Phil, I can’t bullshit you,” Max said. “You knew what we were doing. I never understood why you didn’t turn me in.”

“Didn’t like the twerp who hired me,” Phil said. “The investor. He wanted to make sure you weren’t running drugs. I tried to say I thought you were jewel smuggling, but he interrupted and said, ‘I’m not paying you to think. Is he smuggling drugs?’ I told him you weren’t.”

“You told the God’s honest truth,” Max said. “Thanks to you, he invested in our salvage operation and we found Spanish gold. He was happy and I owe you big-time. Still do.”

“Forget it,” Phil said, and sipped his beer.

“I have friends on both sides of the law,” Max said. He turned to Helen. “You’ve got a tough job. Emeralds are easy to hide aboard a yacht.” He took a ketchup-slathered bite of burger.

“That’s what the captain said. Isn’t Colombia where emeralds come from?” Helen asked. She speared a scallop in her stir-fry.

“It’s a major source,” Max said. “Brazil is another. So are Egypt and other parts of Africa. Cleopatra’s mines in the deserts near the Red Sea produced some of the first emeralds. Egyptian stones are small and dark. They say Cleopatra loved her emeralds more than all her other jewels.

“The Romans believed that emeralds did not fatigue the eyes like other gems. Did you know the emperor Nero wore emerald sunglasses to watch the gladiators die? Wonder how red blood looked through green glasses? Blood and emeralds. They go together.”

Max abandoned the wreckage of his dinner to continue his lecture. “Mel Fisher, the greatest treasure hunter of all, discovered emeralds in the shipwreck Nuestra Señora de Atocha. Colombian emeralds. Mel found more than half a billion dollars in treasure in that salvage operation. When that Spanish ship was wrecked in the Florida Keys, two hundred sixty-four people died. More blood and emeralds.”

Helen tried not to look at her watch. They had to leave soon. How could she steer Max back to the subject? She tried to signal Phil, but he was finishing his beer.

“Does your captain know if he found Colombian emeralds?” Max asked.

Good, Helen thought. Max was back on track.

“He didn’t know,” Helen said. “He’s not an expert. The captain thought they looked like the emeralds he saw in the jewelry shops at Atlantis. The colors ranged from blue-green to deep green.”

“Could be Colombian,” Max said. “An expert would know for sure. You said they were in a box. What kind?”

“A plastic tackle box. The captain said it was filled with stones.”

Max whistled. “That’s worth hundreds of thousands. Maybe more, depending on the quality. Your smuggler is smart, but not smart enough. He knows enough to smuggle in cut emeralds, but not how to treat them right. Loose stones should be stored in individual velvet compartments, not dumped in a box where they could get chipped or scratched.”

“What happens to those emeralds once they reach the U.S.?” Helen asked.

“The smuggler may try to fly with them to a dealer,” Max said. “The stones are not detectable during electronic screening procedures, so someone could have a suitcase full of gems and it would go unnoticed. Unless it was hand searched.

“The smugglers are probably connected to a sleazy but legitimate dealer in gemstones. Believe me, in my brief experience with—uh, friends—they knew a few of those in Manhattan and Miami. Found them to be very unpleasant. Smart but real pricks. Pardon my language.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Helen said. “If the smugglers sell to a sleazy dealer, what’s their cut?”

“I suspect it’s like using a fence,” Max said. “The smugglers will get a fraction of the real value.”

The waiter reappeared. “All finished?” he asked. “How about dessert or coffee?”

“No, thanks,” Helen said.

The waiter put the check on the table and Phil reached for it. Max grabbed it first. “It’s good for my reputation to be seen with such a classy lady, even if she is married to this gray-haired geezer. Good luck catching your smuggler.

“Be careful, Helen. Remember what I said about blood and emeralds. That kind of money makes people crazy.”

CHAPTER 18

Helen caught a ripple of excitement aboard the Belted Earl. White-uniformed staff were hurrying through their chores. She saw the edge of a box being carried into the crew mess and the flash of a feather duster. She heard feet pounding up the spiral staircase to the main deck.

Finally, the cruise felt real. She was an undercover operative. This was more exciting than standing in a shop until she ached from boredom.

Helen followed Mira through the secret passage to the crew quarters. The head stewardess wore her dress uniform and her hair was caught in a twist by her two-toned silver barrette. Her fresh-scrubbed face and bright smile made her look like a teenager.

Mira slid open the second door in the passage. “Stow your bag in your cabin,” she said. “You can unpack later. Louise has the top bunk. She outranks you as second stewardess.”

Helen followed Mira down the passage. White plastic caddies bristling with brushes, dusters and cleaning supplies were stowed in racks along the wall near the far entrance.

“This is yours,” Mira said, pointing to the lowest caddy. She pushed open the door and they were through the looking glass into the carpeted guest quarters.

“Always use the passage,” Mira said. “A stewardess is never seen while cleaning. This will be an easy trip. We have only two couples and they’re staying in the two closest staterooms.”

The names PARADISE and BIMINI were on carved door plaques.

“Ralph and Rosette have Bimini with the peacock blue accents,” Mira said. “Pepper and Scotty will sleep in Paradise. It’s azure blue.” Both were paneled with that honey-colored oak.

“Gorgeous silk spread,” Helen said.

“It’s custom-made,” Mira said. “So are the sheets and pillowcases. You’re looking at about four thousand dollars’ worth of bedding.”

“What’s the routine when the guests arrive?” she asked.

“The staff lines up when the guests come aboard,” Mira said. “Louise and I will serve drinks and the chef will have a buffet ready in the dining room. The boys will carry in the luggage and you’ll unpack it.”

“By myself?” Helen asked. She tried to hide her panic. What if the guests complained and she was thrown off before the cruise started?

“Don’t worry,” Mira said. “These wives usually go down with you when you unpack. Each room has a safe. They’ll put their jewelry away and you won’t have to touch it.”

“Good,” Helen said. The panic was starting to fade.

Mira opened the closet door and they were enveloped by the sweet smell of cedar. “If the wives decide to eat while you unpack, the jewelry goes in the underwear drawer here. When you clean, if money or jewelry is left lying around, you never touch it.”

“We had those same instructions when I worked at the hotel,” Helen said. “Not that our guests had valuable jewelry.”

“We had one incident where a girl was accused of stealing a sapphire necklace,” Mira said. “Turned out the wife never brought it on board. But the captain had to search our cabins and warn us that stealing was a firing offense. The wife finally called home and her maid found it in the bedroom. The wife was mortified. She tipped the girl three hundred dollars, but it was still uncomfortable.”

“Do we get tips?” Helen asked.

“It’s up to the guests,” Mira said. “Sometimes a guest will slip us each a hundred dollars or give the captain money for the crew. But Earl gives us a generous yearly bonus.”

I won’t be working here for a year, Helen thought. At least, I hope not.

“The guests on this trip have been generous in the past,” Mira said. “They’ll be here in less than an hour. The guests’ clothes go on these hangers. Make sure the hangers face the same way. Later tonight, you’ll change out the silk spread for the sleeping duvet.

“Louise and I will serve the guests and watch the on-deck head. We’ll stay in touch with you by two-way radio.”

Mira showed Helen how the black radio worked and helped clip it to Helen’s belt. It felt awkward.

“You’ll also walk Mitzi, Beth’s miniature poodle.”

“On which deck?” Helen asked.

“Well, we call it walking, but Mitzi has the run of the guest area. We keep a flat of grass for her on the upper aft deck and Beth puts ‘puppy training pads’ in her stateroom bath, but Mitzi rarely uses them. If you’re lucky, she’ll use the marble in Beth’s bathroom. She prefers carpet. We have special cleaners for both.”

“Terrific,” Helen said, her heart sinking. She wasn’t even a seagoing Cinderella, condemned to kitchen drudgery. She had latrine duty.

“Is Mitzi a nice dog?” she asked.

“She never bites,” Mira said.

“That’s not an endorsement,” Helen said.

“Beth loves her,” Mira said, “but the dog is spoiled and yappy. The captain banned her from the bridge and the crew areas for safety reasons. He said Mitzi might get hurt if we stepped on her. She is underfoot when she’s on board. Be careful you don’t trip over her.”

“What are the guests like?” Helen asked. “Do they bite?”

“Pretty undemanding,” Mira said. “Ralph and Rosette are Earl’s age. Ralph belongs to an old Chicago family. He doesn’t have Earl’s business success. Rosette and Ralph have been married thirty years. She can be snobbish but she’s not rude.

“Scotty and Pepper are newly married. She’s wife number four, I think. She used to be a cocktail waitress. Scotty is about seventy and gives Pepper anything she wants, as long as she does what he says. Scotty will probably get tipsy. Pepper is maybe twenty-five. She may say something ugly to you if she’s had a fight with Scotty. She’s pretty and Scotty is jealous. They fight a lot.”

“How will I know if they’ve been fighting?” Helen asked.

“You’ll hear them,” Mira said. “We hear everything on this ship. There is no privacy.”

We hear everything, Helen thought. Will I hear the rattle of smuggled emeralds? The sound of the smuggler opening a bilge or the bosun’s locker late at night?

Mira glanced at her watch. “It’s seven twenty-eight,” she said. “You have an appointment with the captain at seven thirty. He’s a stickler for time. I’ll take you up to the bridge. You can meet the other staff later.”

Helen followed Mira up the crew mess stairs and through the galley, where the dark-haired chef was chopping a red pepper at a counter. “Hi, Suzanne,” Mira said.

Suzanne smiled a hello and waved.

Mira walked briskly along the narrow teak deck to the front of the yacht and knocked on the bridge door. “Captain?” she called. “Helen Hawthorne is here.” Mira told Helen, “I’ll leave you here. I have to go back to work.”

Helen thought the bridge looked beautifully useful. The walls and ceiling were paneled in that same honey-colored wood. Six inward-slanting windows gave panoramic views of the muddy New River and the shining white yachts in the marina. The bridge windows had giant wipers, like car windshields. Over the windows were huge built-in monitors. Under the windows were radar screens, electronics and various controls.

Smack in the middle was the pilot’s wheel in sleek steel and wood.

Captain Josiah Swingle strode through a side door in his white dress uniform with four bars on the shoulder.

“Welcome aboard,” he said. Captain Swingle sat down on an upholstered bench that was taller than a regular couch. Helen stayed standing. “Mira has explained your duties?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Helen said. “I’m hoping to catch the smuggler on this trip, but I wonder if the person has stopped.”

“Why would he?” the captain asked.

“I talked with a man who used to be an emerald smuggler. At least, I think he was. He was definitely familiar with the business. He told me a tackle box full of emeralds could be worth thousands—even hundreds of thousands—of dollars. I wonder if your smuggler made enough money and quit.”

“Smugglers never make enough money,” the captain said. “There’s no telling exactly how much he got for that box, but I doubt he made anywhere near its full value. Smugglers are fueled by greed and live for risk. This one won’t stop. I read where the price of emeralds has gone up. Even so-so stones are selling for twenty-five percent more this year.”

“Why the increase?” Helen asked.

“The rich are nervous,” he said. “The market is unstable and they’re putting their money in gold, diamonds and colored stones. If their securities tank, the stones are still worth something. If nothing else, their wives can wear them. You’ll see our guests wearing fortunes.

“We aren’t carrying a full complement of guests this time, so the smuggler will have more free time. He may grow bolder. If you don’t discover him on this trip, you’ll work the next one.”

“I’ll get him this cruise,” Helen said. If she needed an incentive, she had it: Catch the smuggler or more hard labor on the Belted Earl.

“It’s about time for me to pick up the owners and their guests at the airport,” he said.

“Let me remind you: None of the other crew knows why you’re here. This is my ship. You answer to me. If you have any suspicions about my crew, you come to me. Don’t act on your own. Catching a smuggler can get you killed. Understood?”

It was the third time today Helen had heard that warning.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

CHAPTER 19

Three black Lincoln Town Cars silently rolled through the marina, stopping in front of the Belted Earl. Dark-suited chauffeurs popped the trunk latches, then jumped out and opened the rear passenger doors on noiseless, oiled hinges.

Captain Josiah Swingle stepped out of the first car. He’d met the yacht owners and their guests when their private plane landed. With his sun-reddened skin and air of confident command, the captain was a handsome introduction to the Belted Earl.

The other men weren’t as ornamental. Two wore silk Tommy Ba-hama shirts and beige pants. The third man wore a white polo shirt and navy linen pants. Helen noticed all their pants were wrinkled—proof the fabric wasn’t adulterated with polyester.

Next, a tanned and toned blonde slid out of the first car. Helen guessed her age somewhere south of forty. Her long gauzy green caftan looked almost edible. She wore a savage gold necklace set with emerald nuggets. More emeralds dangled from her ears. Her outfit was outlandish and otherworldly. Helen couldn’t guess the designer, but the clothes and jewelry shrieked money.

This must be Beth, the former model married to Earl Briggs.

Beth’s dramatic entrance was spoiled by the yapping white furball she cradled like a baby. Mitzi, the miniature poodle, Helen decided. The dog had a green bow in her curly white hair and a collar of dime-sized emeralds.

Beth took the arm of a portly fellow with a majestic belly and a noble forehead. Winged black eyebrows underpinned that great expanse of brow. Earl Briggs, the yacht owner.

Beth didn’t walk in her high-heeled sandals. She strutted. The world was her runway. Earl looked proud to plod beside his exotic spouse. He wore the satisfied smile of a man who had everything.

Beth and Earl walked arm in arm up to the captain. “Evening, Captain,” Earl said in a flat Midwestern accent.

“Yap!” said the poodle, then erupted in nonstop barks.

Earl fought to drown out the noisy dog. “I assume we’re leaving at nine tonight?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, sir,” Josiah said, over Mitzi’s yips and yaps. “We may want to delay our departure by a few hours.”

“Why?” Earl asked. “It’s a beautiful night.” The eyebrows took wing and a frown flitted across his wide brow.

“Yap!” Mitzi said.

The frown deepened.

“Yip! Yap!” Mitzi barked louder. Helen saw the dog’s pink tongue and tiny sharp teeth. The poodle wore enough jewels to pay the crew for a month.

“It’s perfectly calm,” Earl said. His own calm seemed to be receding fast.

“Yip!” The poodle’s yaps grew shriller. They were needles in Helen’s eardrums.

Earl winced slightly, then asked, “So what’s the problem, Captain?” The frown dug deep furrows in his brow.

Mitzi’s yaps grew into poodle pandemonium. Earl turned to his wife and said calmly, “Beth, keep that damned dog quiet before I shut it up permanently.”

Beth backed away slightly and cuddled the poodle in her arms. “Sh! We must be quiet, baby,” she told Mitzi. “I know you had a difficult flight, but your daddy had a hard day, too. He makes the money for you and your daddy’s tired.”

“I am not the father of a damned dog!” Earl howled. Beth flinched.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Earl said. “Can’t you keep her quiet until I finish this conversation?”

Beth nodded.

“Now, Captain,” Earl commanded, “explain why we can’t leave at nine tonight.”

“We’re expecting rough seas, sir,” Josiah said. “They’re due to wind, not a storm system. Once we leave the coast of Florida, we’ll be in four- to six-foot waves. You may want to wait until the sea is completely laid down.”

“Is it safe to cruise?” Earl asked.

“It’s safe, but it could be uncomfortable,” Josiah said. “This trip will be similar to the last cruise back from Atlantis. If we wait five hours until the waves calm down, we’ll have a smooth crossing. We’ll still get into port tomorrow—about two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“And if we leave at nine tonight?” Earl asked.

“We’ll make it about ten in the morning,” Josiah said.

“We’ll lose half a day’s gambling if we wait,” Earl said. He turned to his guests. “What do you think?”

“Hell, I’m no coward.” Thin and dry as beef jerky, this man had thick unnaturally white hair and a gin-burned face.

“Nor I,” said the older woman next to him. She was a match for her mate: so thin she looked freeze-dried. Her wrinkles and iron gray hair were proudly untouched. Her deck shoes and navy-striped Lilly Pulitzer pants and shirt seemed practical after Beth’s unearthly outfit. Helen guessed they were Ralph and Rosette, Earl’s society friends.

“I’m no wuss. I want to start gambling.” The third man’s dome was aggressively bare and wreathed in cigar smoke, like clouds around a mountaintop. “As long as the scotch holds out, we’ll be fine.”

That must be Scotty, Helen thought. The fluffy blonde clutching his arm was his young wife, Pepper. She whimpered and her pink ruffles trembled. “I don’t like being seasick,” she said. Her face was hidden in waves of golden hair. “Can’t we wait a little?” Pepper kissed Scotty’s large, hairy ear. “Please?”

“Now, kitten, be good,” Scotty said, “and I’ll buy you something pretty at Atlantis.”

“Emeralds?” Her eyes glittered with greed. “I like Beth’s emeralds. Even her dog has bigger emeralds than me.”

“Then we’ll get you the biggest emeralds we can find,” Scotty said, as if he were promising a child ice cream. “Once we get to the Bahamas, you can have lots of nice shopping. The captain and I won’t let anything bad happen.”

Helen expected him to pat Pepper on her head.

“Well, it’s unanimous, Captain,” Earl said. “Everyone wants to leave at nine tonight. If it’s safe to cross, we don’t care about a little discomfort.”

The men didn’t, anyway.

“Yes, sir,” the captain said, his face expressionless. Helen suspected Josiah was a crafty poker player.

Matt, the bosun, and Sam, the deckhand, stood ready to carry the guests’ luggage into the yacht. Matt was generically handsome, a catalog model with neat brown hair and regular features.

Sam was eye candy. His white uniform didn’t hide his ripped chest and bulging calves, and it definitely set off his bronze tan. He had a roguish smile and sun-bleached hair.

Helen couldn’t take her eyes off Sam. Neither could Pepper. Helen saw the fluffy blonde eye him like a starving woman staring at a steak. Her hips had a little extra swing when she pattered past Sam in her pink stilettos.

The rest of the crew lined up like a nautical receiving line, starting with Carl, the first mate. Andrei, the Bulgarian first engineer, had dark hair and swarthy, pitted skin. Dick, the second engineer, was a stair step down in rank and height. Chef Suzanne Schoomer, looking lost outside her galley, towered above him. Helen stood beside the chef.

The chief stewardess, Mira, had put on a new smile to greet the guests. This one looked forced. She balanced a tray of Baccarat champagne flutes. Louise, the second stewardess, was so small Helen wondered how she could support the heavy tray of salmon mousse appetizers.

The owner Earl nodded at the crew and lumbered inside. Beth stopped in front of Helen and said, “You’re the new stewardess. Here. Mitzi needs a walk.” She plopped the squirming poodle in Helen’s arms. The dog yapped and scratched Helen’s arm, trying to escape.

Helen hung on. If she lost that dog, she’d lose her job. “But—” She started to say she was supposed to unpack the guests’ luggage, then stopped. The owner outranked Mira.

The chief stewardess intervened. “Helen has to unpack the guests’ luggage,” she reminded the owner’s wife.

“Oh, the girls can unpack,” Beth said. “They have to put away their jewelry, anyway. I’ll take them downstairs. Helen can help them after she walks Mitzi.” She pulled an emerald-studded leash out of her purse and hooked it to the dog’s collar. Mitzi whimpered.

“Go on,” she said, shooing Helen down the gangplank. “Walk Mitzi before we cruise. Then give her a bowl of bottled water.” The dog whined and circled Helen’s legs, tangling her in the leash.

“We’ve laid in Evian for her,” Mira said.

“She doesn’t drink Evian now,” Beth said. “It upsets her tummy. She prefers Fiji water. I hope you have some on hand.”

“We have six kinds of bottled water,” Mira said, “including Veen, 10 Thousand BC and Bling H2O. Paris Hilton gives Tinkerbell Bling.”

“That little tart would,” Beth said. “Probably got a free case. Send someone out to buy Fiji. Send him. He’s just standing there.” She pointed at Andrei. His olive skin went a shade darker. The mighty engineer was not supposed to be an errand boy, but he started obediently toward the parking lot.

“Suzanne, did you fix Mitzi’s food?” Beth asked.

“I baked the organic peanut butter treats she likes,” the chef said, “and made her organic chicken and rice.”

If I hate cleaning up after a dog, Helen thought, I wonder how our chef feels about fixing canine cuisine.

“Here, doggy,” Helen said. She wasn’t a dog lover and Mitzi knew it. The poodle stayed rooted to the teak deck. Helen gave up coaxing Mitzi, picked her up and carried her off the boat.

On the dock, Mitzi anointed the pilings while Helen said, “Good dog.” When she got home, she’d give Thumbs an extra treat for being an uncomplicated cat.

She wished she’d brought along her BlackBerry. She was worried her sister would get a call from the blackmailer and panic.

“Hey!” a man said. “Should you be walking alone with thirty thousand dollars’ worth of emeralds?”

Helen jumped and turned around. Andrei, the first engineer and Fiji fetcher, swaggered up to her as if he were the hottest man on the yacht. He had a cheesy seventies handsomeness. What did he use on his hair? Engine oil?

Andrei’s small brown eyes looked shifty, but Helen wondered if she was influenced by the captain’s suspicion that he might be the smuggler.

He held out a calloused hand. “Andrei,” he said. “I was busy when Mira showed you around. Now I have to be an errand boy for this mutt. I should wring her neck and take the collar and leash. She’s wearing round-cut emeralds. That’s an uncommon cut.”

“It is?” Helen asked. “Why?”

“The classic emerald cut yields a bigger stone with fewer inclusions.”

Inclusions. Helen had heard that word before—from Max the smuggler. She decided to see how much Andrei knew. “What are inclusions?”

“Flaws,” Andrei said. “Emeralds aren’t as hard as diamonds. Too many inclusions can destroy the value.” He crouched down to examine Mitzi’s collar. The dog growled at him.

“Mitzi has ten round-cut emeralds on her collar and six more on the leash. The colors are fantastic and the polish is excellent. I’d say they’re worth about two thousand dollars a carat.”

“You know a lot about emeralds,” Helen said. No wonder the captain was suspicious.

“I get around.” Andrei flashed his white teeth. “What about you?”

“I live in Fort Lauderdale,” Helen said, ignoring his double entendre.

“I mean, wanna hook up? She doesn’t know how long it takes me to buy Fiji water, and it’s going to be a long, hard night. I could give you something long and hard before we cruise.”

What a sleaze, Helen thought. “Not interested. I have someone.”

“Bet he’s not as good as me.” He thrust his hips forward.

Ew, Helen thought. “I’m busy,” she said.

“Watching a dog pee?” he asked.

“Better than hanging with a hound,” Helen said. She picked up Mitzi and carried her back toward the yacht. Why did Andrei have to look and sound like a classic villain?

It made this job tougher.

CHAPTER 20

Helen’s two-way radio crackled as she was smoothing the duvet in the Paradise stateroom.

“Main salon head needs attention,” Mira said.

“Roger that,” Helen said.

Again? The yacht hadn’t even left port and this was the third time Helen had cleaned that head. Pepper had used it again. Helen recognized her candy pink lipstick on the discarded tissues. The flossy blonde was not a good sailor. She would earn those emeralds.

Helen grabbed her cleaning caddy, slipped on another pair of disposable gloves, bolted through the secret passage and sprinted up the crew mess steps to the on-deck head.

She was greeted by chaos. Pepper must have showered in the marble sink. Water was splashed on the floor, the mirror, even the hand-carved wall sconces. Helen brushed the toilet bowl, wiped the sink and carefully blotted the droplets off the hand-painted wallpaper. Both hand towels were streaked with mascara and lipstick. She replaced them. That made six towels in an hour—for one head. No wonder the crew did laundry eighteen hours a day.

She emptied the wastebasket and wiped the fingerprints off the light switch. Pepper had washed her hands with the Bvlgari soap bar, so Helen opened a fresh one—the third bar so far—and pocketed the damp bar, used once. It smelled heavenly. She hoped she got to use it in the bath she shared with Louise.

She surveyed the room and mentally went through her checklist. She’d missed something. Toilet paper! She folded the tissue into a neat point. Done.

The yacht hummed and rocked slightly. Helen wondered how long before it hit the six-foot waves. On the way back downstairs, Helen caught a glimpse of the port at night. The lights sparkled like jewels and the stars were diamonds on black velvet. The water was smooth and black as obsidian.

She wished Phil were here with her to enjoy the view. Her wistful longing was interrupted by the padded sound of shoes on the thick carpet. Guests! She mustn’t be seen. Helen picked up her caddy and disappeared down the stairs to finish the turndown service for the Paradise stateroom.

Scotty had unpacked his own luggage, and Helen wished he’d let her do it. He’d scattered cigar ashes over the carpet and desk and used a porcelain vase for an ashtray. She hoped the vanilla air freshener would disguise the cigar odor and it wouldn’t seep into the other rooms.

Bimini was next. Scrawny little Ralph Randolph was a big slob. He’d spilled champagne on the built-in dresser. Helen gave Mira a frantic radio call and the head stewardess told her how to fix the damage to the oak finish.

Ralph’s bathroom habits would shame a pig. Helen guessed she should be grateful Mrs. R. seemed neat. Her husband made enough mess for two people.

She wondered if she could get a minute to call her sister. She was worried the blackmailer would call Kathy again and demand more money. Her sister panicked every time he called. Last time she’d insisted Helen fly to St. Louis because Kathy was scared to leave the cash on the Dumpster.

Why shouldn’t she be? Helen told herself. The creep was threatening Kathy’s son—and your nephew. Your sister has every right to be afraid. You got her into this mess.

When Coronado Investigations started, Helen knew the day would come when she’d be stuck on a case when the blackmailer called. That’s why, on her last visit, she’d put Kathy’s name on Helen’s local bank accounts. Now her sister could withdraw money without Helen. But she worried that Kathy would be too afraid to go to the bank if he called.

Helen thought the blackmailer enjoyed Kathy’s fear almost as much as the money. She’ll be crazed when she discovers I’m out of the country. I’ll have to get her through this crisis long-distance.

But maybe the blackmailer hasn’t called. Maybe I’m just borrowing trouble. If I could get two minutes with my phone, I’d know for sure.

She was halfway down the passage to her cabin when her radio sputtered. “Mrs. Crowne has left the on-deck head,” Mira said.

Helen quietly cursed Pepper and her overbearing husband and went up the stairs with her cleaning caddy. Again.

About an hour out of Fort Lauderdale, the rough seas started. Helen kept running through the secret passage and up and down the steps, cleaning, scrubbing, folding toilet paper into points. The guests used so many towels she’d had to replenish the supply in the cabinet. She could feel the yacht bouncing a bit, but she wasn’t sick.

I’m an old sea dog, she thought.

In a weird way, she was grateful for the ceaseless work. She didn’t have time to worry about Kathy.

At eleven o’clock, the men retreated to the sky lounge for scotch and poker. Now Helen had two guest heads to clean and another flight of stairs to climb.

“I’m not feeling so good,” Helen heard Pepper tell Beth and Rosette in the main salon. “I think I’ll go to bed.”

“You do that, dear,” Beth said. “We’ll stay here and talk.”

The salon’s sofas and end tables were securely bolted to the floor. Beth and Rosette, the society woman, seemed unfazed by the rough seas. Beth held Mitzi in her arms while the poodle whimpered. The two women sipped champagne, nibbled on snacks and delicately knifed reputations. Helen rested for a moment at the top of the crew mess stairs and listened.

Rosette waited until Pepper’s footsteps faded down the main staircase, then said, “Really, I don’t know why Scotty bothered marrying her.”

“You don’t?” Beth said, archly. “Her attractions are obvious.”

“We can all see them,” Rosette said. That “all” was etched in acid.

“I think she’s rather sweet,” Beth said. “She’s better than that horror he had before Pepper. What was her name? Belinda? Blanche?”

“Blossom,” Rosette said.

Helen nearly dropped her cleaning caddy. She leaned forward to hear more.

“I think Scotty paid that one by the hour,” Rosette said. “What street corner did he find her on?”

“She was from somewhere in California,” Beth said. “He flew her back on his plane and bragged she’d made him a member of the Mile High Club. Scotty has always had a taste for the demimonde.”

“You don’t have to be so delicate, darling,” Rosette said. “He likes hookers. He told my husband he doesn’t have to romance them—they’re paid to worry about how he feels. He was feeling a bit battered after his last divorce. I don’t care who he sleeps with, but he dragged that one to dinner with us. That was the limit. I pleaded a sick headache.”

“If you’d seen the sleazy rag she wore, you really would have been sick,” Beth said. “I couldn’t escape. You stuck me with her. That was very naughty of you.”

Did Scotty date Arthur’s future wife? Helen wondered. Blossom was her trick name. Maybe lots of hookers used it. She did have outrageous outfits in her closet and an arrest for prostitution. Her clothes and behavior around Helen were impeccable, but Fran the housekeeper insisted Blossom had dressed to meet a man.

“Thank gawd Scotty came to his senses,” Rosette said. “She mentioned getting married on the beach once too often and he finally put her on a plane back to whatever whorehouse she came from.”

“Not before she stole his watch and who knows how much cash,” Beth said. “Scotty was too embarrassed to report it.”

“I think he got off cheap,” Rosette said.

Helen jumped when she heard Mira clattering through the crew mess. “Helen!” the head stew said. “Why are you lounging on the stairs? Go see if Mrs. Crowne needs anything.”

Helen shot through the secret passage to the Paradise stateroom, where she heard Pepper being violently sick. Then the bed creaked and there were alarming moans.

Helen tapped on the Paradise door. “Mrs. Crowne?”

“What?” Pepper gasped.

“Do you need anything, Mrs. Crowne?” Helen asked. “May I bring you some hot tea? Ginger ale? Dramamine?”

“Nothing works,” Pepper said. “I’ve tried it all.”

“Would you like your bathroom cleaned?”

“No, let me die in peace,” Pepper said, and groaned like something from a newly opened grave. “Wait! Come in. You can get me something.”

Pepper was shivering under the duvet, curled into the fetal position. Her creamy skin had a green tinge and her golden hair was plastered to her damp forehead. “I want a bucket,” she said.

“Like a plastic scrub bucket. I don’t want to keep getting up to barf. I wish I’d never seen that salmon mousse. Oh, God, not again.” Pepper jumped up and streaked toward the stateroom’s head.

Helen gently closed the door, then radioed Mira. “Give her one of the small plastic buckets in the passage,” the head stewardess said. “You’re lucky. Some guests use the wastebaskets.”

By eleven thirty, the wind was stronger. On her trips upstairs, Helen saw whitecaps on the black water. The boat was rocking like the devil’s cradle. Occasionally, she heard a crash as something slid off a shelf. The chef, Suzanne, had packed the galley cabinets with Bubble Wrap and was taping the doors and drawers shut. Mira and Louise were securing dishes and ornaments. The deckhand and second engineer had zipped the canvas covers on the deck furniture. Now they were lashing it to the rails.

Helen felt queasy. She couldn’t walk through the shifting secret passage without barking her shins or hitting her elbow. Slowly, her body got used to the yacht’s movement. First the ship would plunge down—taking her stomach with it—then rock back and forth until the next big wave hit it hard and the process started over.

The wooden blinds swung and banged against the windows, and the waves slapped the boat so loud Helen heard them when she cleaned the sky lounge head on the third deck. The stink of Scotty’s cigar hung in the sky lounge. Her queasy stomach did a backflip and Helen raced downstairs to her cabin. If she was going to get sick, she’d use her cabin head. It didn’t have to be cleaned every time.

Yeah, I’m a real old salt, Helen thought as she worshipped the porcelain. She sat briefly on her bucking bunk. The room spun.

Her radio crackled into life. “Helen, where are you?” Mira asked.

“Sick,” Helen said.

“You’re not allowed to be sick,” Mira said.

“Nobody told my stomach,” Helen said.

“I mean it,” Mira said. “You have to take hot tea, a soft-boiled egg and saltines to Mrs. Crowne. Louise is taking care of Mrs. Randolph. I’m delivering an egg and toast to the missus. Come up to the galley now.”

Helen ran into Louise in the secret passage, almost literally. She plastered herself against the wall while Louise tried to ease by with a tray loaded with gold-rimmed china and Baccarat crystal.

“A soft-boiled egg and ginger ale for Mrs. R.,” the stew said. She was so tiny, she barely came to Helen’s shoulder.

Carrying that tray must be a chore for her, Helen thought.

The ship made a sudden lurch and Helen reached out and caught the Baccarat glass before it tumbled over the side of the tray.

“Thanks,” Louise said. “I can’t afford to lose one hundred fifty bucks if that breaks. I wish I was off this damn yacht. I’m sick of waiting on rich idiots. Oops!” The yacht leaped again and Louise staggered down the passage and through the looking glass.

Later, Helen would remember that conversation.

It was the last time she ever spoke to Louise.

CHAPTER 21

Helen dragged her aching body up the stairs again, pulling herself up by the rail. She tried not to think about carrying a tray of food back down it. She had a job to do. She had a smuggler to catch. Nobody died of seasickness, did they?

At last, she was upstairs. Chef Suzanne presided over a shifting galley, where water sloshed out of steaming pots and sizzled on the Thermador stove top. Helen caught glimpses of other top-of-the-line brand names, including Sub-Zero.

Suzanne, a thin woman with straight dark hair and serious brown eyes, pointed to a napkin-covered tray on the center island. The chef had used thin, gold-rimmed china for the soft-boiled egg, saltines and tea.

“That goes to Mrs. Crowne,” Suzanne said. “The men are asleep—or passed out—in the sky lounge. Mira covered them with blankets and they’re snoring.”

The boat took another downward plunge and Helen grabbed the railing along the counter to stay upright.

“How do I get this downstairs?” Helen asked.

“Walk with your feet wide apart for balance,” Suzanne said. “Keep them spread as wide as your shoulders. Hold on to the tray with one hand and the wall with the other. And be careful. That’s Rosenthal china. Any breakage comes out of your pay. You’ll have to check on your charge every fifteen minutes.”

“She told me to go away once I delivered the bucket,” Helen said.

“You still have to stay awake in case she calls you. Mira left a thermos of coffee in the crew mess. That should keep you awake.”

Helen waited until the yacht was out of the deep swing and into the smaller rocking motions. As she started out of the galley, the yacht took another steep plunge. The china rattled and the gold-rimmed cup slid off the tray and smashed on the floor.

“It’s only a cup,” Suzanne said. “We have lots of those.”

“Where’s a broom?” Helen asked.

“I’ll sweep it up. You get that food to the guest,” Suzanne said.

“How much is it?” Helen asked.

“Eighty dollars,” Suzanne said.

Helen hoped she could put the cost of the broken china on her expense account. She picked up the tray again. After what seemed like hours, she made it down the stairs and through the passage to Pepper’s door. Her muscles ached from the effort to keep her balance.

She knocked, and found Pepper still huddled under the duvet.

“Put it on the nightstand,” Pepper said as she tried to sit up. She was still wearing her pink ruffled outfit, now hopelessly wrinkled.

A small rail around the stand’s edge kept the tray from sliding off. Helen poured Pepper a cup of oolong. She was shocked by the woman’s pasty face. As Pepper sipped the sloshing tea, her color returned.

Helen had braced her legs to keep from falling as the yacht was slammed by another wave. She felt like she was riding a surfboard. The sea seemed to be getting wilder.

“Don’t you get seasick?” Pepper asked.

“A little,” Helen said.

“But you still have to work? That’s awful,” Pepper said. “I wouldn’t do it.”

I wouldn’t marry a rich old man like Scotty, Helen thought, but said nothing.

“Sit down,” Pepper said. “Talk to me. Those ladies upstairs are old and Rosette is mean. When I came out of the john I heard her tell Beth that I dressed like a cocktail waitress. Well, what’s wrong with that? That’s how I met Scotty. I always look nice. Rosette doesn’t bother. She’s just jealous. Don’t you think?”

Pepper didn’t want an answer, just a sympathetic ear. She prattled away as she sipped her tea. About ten minutes into the monologue Pepper said, “I guess my husband is still playing poker, huh?”

“He was. I think he fell asleep in the sky lounge,” Helen said.

“Good,” Pepper said. “I can be up and dressed pretty by the time he’s awake. I wanted to fly to Atlantis and meet him at noon tomorrow. That’s what everyone does. But he insisted on going with his buddies on the Earl and dragged me along. Well, he’s going to pay. I’m getting emeralds and diamonds both.”

Helen hoped Pepper planned to stash that jewelry. She suspected Scotty would dump her when she was no longer ornamental.

“You look like you’re feeling better,” Helen said.

“I am,” Pepper said. “The tea helped. Do you know how I met Scotty?”

Helen sat in the stateroom, listening to Pepper drone on. Her radio didn’t erupt into more commands. The boat’s rocking gradually grew more gentle.

She sat up suddenly, wondering where she was. Then she heard Pepper snoring softly. Helen was sitting in Pepper’s stateroom. She’d fallen asleep while Pepper had been talking.

The teacup and the saltine dish were both empty. The teapot was cold. So was the untouched egg. What time was it?

She checked her watch: five forty-three. She wished she could call Phil and tell him what she’d learned about Scotty and his hooker girlfriend. It might be connected to the Zerling case. But she had to report to work at six a.m.

Helen tiptoed out, carefully shutting the door, and opened her cabin. She hoped she could shower without waking Louise.

But Louise’s bunk wasn’t slept in and there was no light on in the bathroom. Poor Louise, Helen thought. She must have had to work all night, too. And she hates this job even more than I do.

Helen showered quickly and changed into her work uniform of shorts and a polo shirt, then climbed the stairs again. In the galley, the lights were blazing. The air was scented with coffee and cinnamon rolls were baking in the oven. Suzanne was slicing a pineapple on a cutting board. The tall woman had her dark hair tied back. This morning, she seemed worried.

“Morning, Helen,” Suzanne said. “Have you seen Louise? She was supposed to help set up and serve breakfast.”

“Not since last night about three o’clock,” Helen said. “She was carrying a tray to Mrs. Randolph and I met her in the passage. Her bunk wasn’t slept in. I thought she was working all night.”

“Odd,” Suzanne said. “She’s so reliable. I’ve tried to radio Mira, but I can’t reach her, either. She must have turned off her radio by mistake. The captain wants to go through Bimini customs at eight.”

“Bimini? Aren’t we cruising to Atlantis?” Helen said.

“Change of plans,” she said. “A waterspout was reported to the south of us. The National Weather Service issued a warning.”

“That’s like a tornado, right?” Helen said.

“Right. It wasn’t safe for us to continue the voyage. The captain found shelter in Alice Town and anchored. We’ll clear customs this morning, then sail on. Expect the guests to be grumpy about this change in plans.”

Helen looked out the galley window. The morning sky was dark and velvety, but she saw a narrow silver line on the horizon, the first sign of dawn. In the distance Helen could make out a white cabin cruiser. Two sailboats bobbed close to the yacht.

“There are some battered-looking boats down by the swim platform,” Helen said.

“Oh, good,” Suzanne said. “Hope they’re fishermen. Maybe I can get fresh lobster or fish.”

“You can buy fish from boats you don’t know?” Helen said.

“That’s how a chef gets the catch of the day,” Suzanne said. “Local fishing boats bring it straight to the yacht. They tend to overcharge, but it’s always fresh. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

Suzanne ran out the galley door. Helen saw the fishing boats were moving away from the Earl. Now Helen heard a woman’s voice—it was the missing Mira. She was talking too loud and too fast.

“I told her she shouldn’t go,” Mira said. “But she said last night was the last straw. Now she’s gone.”

“She can’t be,” Suzanne said. Her voice was lower and calmer.

“She took off in that cabin cruiser,” Mira said.

Louise jumped ship? Helen had to know the details. She deserted her post and ran down the circular stairs to the swim platform on the lower aft deck. Suzanne, Sam and Carl were listening intently to Mira. Suzanne didn’t notice that Helen had joined the group.

“Louise kept a stash of a thousand dollars’ cash for emergencies,” Mira said. “She said this was an emergency—she had to save her sanity. She paid that charter boat a thousand dollars to take her away. That white one there.”

She pointed toward the horizon where the cabin cruiser was disappearing fast.

“I tried to stop her, but she pushed me away,” Mira said. “Louise said she was desperate. I tried to hang on, but I couldn’t. I hurt my knee and hit my head. Look.”

Mira showed them a nasty scrape on her right knee and a dime-sized bloody spot on her scalp. “She pulled out my barrette,” she said.

“I think we’d better report to the captain right now,” Carl said.

CHAPTER 22

Josiah Swingle was dangerously angry. He did not shout when Mira told him that Louise left the ship. If anything, his voice was lower and calmer. But Helen saw his jaw muscles bunch as he clenched his teeth. That was the only signal to beware.

The captain called an emergency meeting in the mess while the crew ate breakfast. He looked tired this morning, though his uniform was fresh and he’d taken time to shave.

The crew was quiet. Their usual chatter had dried up. Suzanne had set out breakfast for the staff. Helen grabbed a tortilla stuffed with cheese, eggs and potatoes, and poured a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table next to Sam. Even after a rough night the young deckhand looked ridiculously handsome. He gave her a tentative smile and scooted over in the booth.

Andrei sat on the other side, glowering at his coffee. Carl, the first mate, had stayed on the bridge. Suzanne perched on the stairs, ready to sprint up to the galley if she heard anyone come into the dining room.

The captain stood in the center of the room.

Mira sat at the edge of the U-shaped booth and recited her story again. “Everyone knows that Louise was ready to quit,” she said, looking around the room for confirmation. “She told all of us she was sick of working on the boat, didn’t she? Well?”

After an awkward silence, Matt the bosun said, “That’s true.”

“I heard her say it,” Andrei said.

“Me, too,” Sam said.

“I bet she even told you, Helen,” Mira said.

“She said she was sick of waiting on rich idiots,” Helen said.

“Sh! Keep your voice down,” Mira cautioned. “What if a guest heard you?”

“You asked,” Helen said, trying to keep her voice mild.

“Louise may have complained,” Suzanne said, “but we all do that. She’s always been reliable. I don’t believe she left. She might quit when we got to Atlantis—like the stew Helen replaced—but I can’t see Louise leaving us in the lurch.”

“You didn’t work with her the way I did,” Mira said. “Louise said the storm was the last straw. She knew we had at least ten hours of sailing today. She said she couldn’t stand this yacht another minute. She was afraid she might hurt herself—or a guest.”

Josiah Swingle was a judge listening to the arguments. Now he spoke for the first time since he asked Mira to give her account. “Why would a lone woman with a lot of cash go off on a strange boat in a foreign country?” he asked. “It’s dangerous.”

“It wasn’t risky,” Mira said. “She left on a fishing charter boat that operates out of Miami. The captain was anchored in the same cove as us. He was heading home and happy to have the extra money.”

“What was the name of this boat?” Josiah asked.

“Aces High,” Mira said. “It docks at the Miami Beach Marina with the other fishing charters.”

“Describe it,” the captain said.

“Typical charter fishing boat,” she said. “Hatteras cabin cruiser, white with a tuna tower. Maybe thirty feet long. Well cared for. I don’t know the size of the crew, but the captain said he had a party of four fishermen aboard. I think Louise saw the boat, flagged them down and offered the captain cash to take her home. I heard voices and came down to the swim platform. Louise was boarding the boat. She’d already handed her duffel to a crew member. I tried to stop her and that’s when she fought me. Suzanne heard the commotion upstairs. By the time she came down, the boat was gone. Carl was there, too.”

“I’ll tell the Bahamian custom agents,” the captain said.

“Will this make trouble for us?” asked Andrei, the first engineer.

“I don’t think so,” Josiah said. “I haven’t cleared her into the country.

“Back to work, everyone. We’re all behind schedule. The owners are going to customs at eight o’clock. I’ll go with them. We have to present ourselves in person. You’ll leave here at eight fifteen so I can clear in the crew.”

The captain stalked off toward the bridge and the crew got their orders from their immediate supervisors.

“Helen, we have to do Louise’s work as well as ours,” Mira said. “Start the laundry, then go to the galley and help serve breakfast. The men are awake and out of the sky lounge, so I’ll start cleaning it.”

Mira was taking on a tough job, Helen thought. Scotty and his cigars left more ash than a volcanic eruption. She put her breakfast plate and cup in the crew galley dishwasher, threw two loads of towels in the washer and ran upstairs to the coffee- and cinnamon-scented galley. The chef seemed content in her kingdom.

“Finish setting up for breakfast,” Suzanne said. “The guests could show up any moment—at least I hope so. They have to go through customs early if we’re going to make Atlantis today.”

Suzanne had prepared a buffet with colorful fruit salad in melon bowls, baskets of fresh-baked bread and muffins, bowls of Greek yogurt, granola, steel-cut oatmeal, crisp bacon, plump sausages and fried potatoes.

“All you need is an ice sculpture and you’ll have a buffet big enough for a cruise ship,” Helen said.

The chef peeled the tape off the cabinets and removed the Bubble Wrap that kept the china from shifting during the storm. Helen saw at least four sets of china.

“What service should I use?” she asked.

“The Spode Stafford Flowers on that lower shelf.” Suzanne handed her a plate with delicate flowers and a scrolled gold rim.

“Pretty,” Helen said.

“I’ll say. It’s eight hundred a place setting,” she said. “We only bring it out when the sea is calm.”

“My hands tremble at the thought of carrying it,” Helen said.

“Just be glad you don’t have to serve a formal dinner. Missus likes to use her Royal Copenhagen Flora Danica. That’s seven thousand a place setting.”

“I could trip and wipe out a year’s wages,” Helen said.

The footsteps on the guest staircase silenced their conversation. A rumpled, red-eyed Scotty staggered into the galley, trailing wisps of cigar smoke. He’d changed into fresh clothes, but still smelled like stale stogies.

“Got any coffee?” he asked. Exhausted by those three words, he sat in the dining room. Earl and Ralph followed a little later. Earl managed one word: “Coffee.” Ralph grunted. Helen wasn’t sure if that was a command or a greeting.

After a coffee infusion, the men ordered hearty meat-and-cheese-stuffed omelets with sausage, bacon and fried potatoes. Helen delivered the food without a mishap.

“Got any hot sauce, Chef?” Earl asked.

“Six kinds,” Suzanne said. “Louisiana Hot Sauce, Tabasco sauce, Scorned Woman—”

“Stop! I’ll take Scorned Woman,” Earl said. “Don’t bother with a sissy bowl. Serve it straight from the bottle.”

Helen watched Earl drown his omelet in the fiery brownish sauce.

“Jeez, Earl, is your mouth lined with asbestos?” Scotty said.

“Best cure for a hangover I know,” Earl said as the sweat broke out on his forehead.

“The best cure I know is to keep drinking,” Scotty said.

All three men abandoned their breakfasts after a few bites. After two cups of coffee, Scotty was alert enough to ask, “Why are we anchored? This isn’t Atlantis.”

“Change of plans,” Earl said. “Captain got a warning about a waterspout last night and dropped anchor off Bimini. We have to go through customs at Alice Town when they open at eight. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to Atlantis this evening.”

“Think we better wake up the girls?” Scotty asked.

“Yap!” Mitzi said, and all three men winced.

“Beth is here,” Earl said.

Beth was a vision in an indigo linen pantsuit and a heavy Native American squash-blossom necklace. Languidly beautiful, she rolled Mitzi in an aqua stroller and parked it beside her chair. The poodle wore a silver squash-blossom collar studded with dark blue lapis.

Mitzi yapped again and Beth saw her husband frown. She cooed at the little poodle and fed her organic chicken and rice from a Spode bowl.

Rosette, thin and dried as a strip of leather, showed up about seven fifteen in a nautical striped top and linen pants. She played with her oatmeal. Beth squeezed lime juice on a mango and tortured it while she stuffed Mitzi with food to keep her quiet.

Everyone drank gallons of coffee, but nobody was hungry, except Pepper. She arrived at seven thirty, looking outrageously fresh in a white off-the-shoulder top and tight emerald green pants.

Pepper cheerfully attacked three fried eggs, bacon and half a loaf of toast. “I feel really good this morning after barfing my guts out all night,” she said.

Beth and Rosette glared at her but said nothing.

Scotty smiled his approval. “Good, you’re up early,” he said.

“I’m wearing my green outfit so we can go emerald shopping this morning,” Pepper said.

“We’re not shopping this morning,” Scotty said.

Pepper’s face fell and her candy pink lower lip trembled.

“We’ll get your emeralds,” Scotty said, gnawing on his cigar, “but the captain had to anchor in Bimini last night because the storm was so bad. We’ll go through customs here at Alice Town. Because you’ve been a good girl, I’ll buy you a bracelet and a necklace.”

Pepper squealed and hugged Scotty. He patted her round bottom. Rosette looked as disgusted as Helen felt. How could a woman stand being treated like a child? she wondered. Maybe the little-girl act was worth a lot of grown-up jewelry.

At seven forty-five, the captain appeared. Earl stood up. “Customs opens at eight. Let’s get moving,” he said. “When do we get to Atlantis, Captain?”

“If we get back to the boat by nine,” Josiah said, “it will take about half an hour to pull up the anchor and start the engines. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in Atlantis by seven thirty tonight.”

“So we can shop for emeralds today!” Pepper said.

“And have dinner at ten at Atlantis,” Beth said. “Mira, will you make reservations at Nobu for us?”

“What the hell’s Nobu?” Scotty asked.

“Nobu Matsuhisa has like the hottest Japanese restaurants in the world,” Pepper said. “We’re lucky Atlantis has one.”

“I don’t want Japanese hash,” he said. “I want real food.”

“You can still get your boring old steak,” Pepper said. “But, please, can’t we go? I was so sick during that awful storm.”

“And you can have steak for lunch, Scotty,” Beth said.

“Time’s a-wasting, people,” Earl said. When he herded his guests down the gangplank, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Fifteen minutes later, Carl led the crew through customs.

On the short walk, Helen straggled behind the others, puzzling over Louise’s behavior and the captain’s question: Why would a lone woman get on a strange charter boat with a purse full of cash? She didn’t believe in blaming the victim, but that seemed like an invitation to rape and murder.

The soft Bahamian air, the warm April sunshine and Alice Town’s tiny yellow, red and aqua buildings were a pleasant distraction. Helen loved the Bahamian voices—light, soft and musical with a hint of clipped British vowels.

At the customs shed, a Bahamian agent gave an official smile. “Welcome to Alice Town, Captain Swingle,” he said.

“Glad to be here,” he said. “I heard the waterspout advisory and found a safe harbor here last night. One of my crew was so shaken by the rough seas she went back on another ship.”

Now the customs agent’s smile vanished. “What is this woman’s name?” he asked.

“Louise Renee Minette, of Fort Lauderdale,” the captain said. “She’s traveling back on a fishing charter operating out of Miami Beach, Aces High.”

“I do not remember any woman passenger aboard a charter boat by that name this morning,” the official said. “I will check the records. The charter can legally pick her up and take her back, but that captain has to clear her out of our country. If he did not, we will send customs agents after him.”

Good, Helen thought. We’ll know when Louise gets back to the USA—or if she doesn’t.

“No worries, Captain,” the official said. “She is not your responsibility anymore.”

Josiah Swingle smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

CHAPTER 23

“It’s so big,” Pepper squealed. “I forgot how big it is. Especially from this angle.”

Mira was right, Helen thought. You could hear everything on the yacht—whether you wanted to or not. She eavesdropped while she collected empty Baccarat flutes as the yacht cruised into Atlantis.

Sunset stained the channel’s wide pearly water a luscious pink. Helen and Mira had been serving drinks and appetizers for nearly three hours. Beth and Rosette took well-bred sips and nibbles. Pepper attacked the puff pastries and chicken skewers as if she’d been marooned on a Bahamian island.

Scotty had spent the afternoon playing poker and pounding scotch. He was a genial drunk. He called Pepper “my lucky lady” and sat her on his knee. Pepper’s top was smudged with cigar ash, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“As soon as we dock, we’ll go shopping, just the two of us,” he told her. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me and went on the yacht?”

“No. I hurled all night,” Pepper said, and treated him to a delectable pout. “But this is awesome.”

Helen heard Rosette snort. “Awesome,” she muttered to her husband. “Only that brainless nitwit would say ‘awesome.’”

But Atlantis was awesome against the seashell pink sky. The monumental marina with its soaring granite walls and bronze dolphin sculptures could have been built by a god.

The Atlantis resort and casino is on Paradise Island, once called Hog Island. That name wouldn’t do when Huntington Hartford, the A&P heir, bought the property: Pigs and groceries were a bad combination. He rechristened it Paradise and the name stayed even after he was gone. This earthly Paradise provided the fabulous sugar-sand beaches and clear aqua water for such movies as Thunderball and the Beatles’ Help!

Only the rich were allowed into Hog heaven. The marina handled yachts up to 240 feet long and banned boats under 40 feet. In this company, the Belted Earl was only a midsized yacht. Helen thought the Earl, with its elegant curved hull, was handsomer than the tubby mega-yachts.

As the ship grew closer, they were hailed by a muscular dark-skinned man in a yellow speedboat.

“It’s Action Jackson!” Mira cried. “He’s the Bahamas’ unofficial greeter.”

Jackson was a bullet-headed man in a bright red cap who’d crowned himself the Limbo King of the Bahamas. He offered to take everyone on a tour.

“What fun!” Pepper said. “Let’s go. We can meet the natives!”

“Don’t encourage that revolting man,” Rosette said. “Can’t you do something about him, Earl? He’s dirty and so is his boat. Look. He’s attracting more vermin.”

Now the yacht was surrounded by a flotilla of little boats offering pink conch, yellow bananas and hairy brown coconuts.

Helen didn’t think Jackson was dirty. She liked his Bahamian lilt. Mira called Carl, the yacht’s second-in-command, on the radio.

The white-uniformed Carl was nearly six feet tall, with a round, open face, shrewd eyes and no-color hair. He looked like the Western hero’s best friend. He was under thirty and already developing sailor’s sun wrinkles.

He climbed down to the swim platform. Action and the swarm of small boats followed him. Carl seemed to be talking more to another boat captain in ragged shorts and a faded T-shirt. Helen caught a few phrases: “not a good time” … “come back” … “you need to hide.”

Hide? she wondered. Hide what? Did Carl tell someone on a little red boat, “See you ashore”? That couldn’t be right.

Action left with a flash of his wide, white smile and a wave of his thick brown arm, and the smaller boats followed. Carl climbed back up to the guests.

“They’re gone, Mrs. Randolph,” he said.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “With the crime rate in Nassau, I don’t know why those people are allowed to approach yachts in the harbor.”

“It would have been fun to limbo,” Pepper said.

Scotty wrapped her in a bear hug. “But not as much fun as buying emeralds. Are you ready? We go as soon as the ship docks.”

When the pink castle towers of Atlantis came into view, Pepper jumped up and said, “I want to see us dock.” She dragged Scotty to the rail.

“Let’s go, too, dear,” Ralph said. “The view is magnificent.”

Rosette rolled her eyes, but joined her stringy spouse on deck. Beth and Earl followed hand in hand, leaving Mitzi behind. The poodle ran inside and squatted on the salon carpet.

“Better walk that dog before they come back,” Mira said. “Walk the dog” was the cleanup code. Helen got down on hands and knees to wipe up the dog pee, vowing to treat Thumbs to the finest catnip in Lauderdale and herself to a stiff drink when she was home.

“Come on out,” Mira said. “When the yacht docks, two stews have to be on deck to stand by the fenders and make sure they’re in place, in case something goes wrong.”

Helen was amazed how quickly and smoothly the Belted Earl was docked. She’d had a harder time parallel parking in downtown Lauderdale.

“I’ll meet you in the crew mess,” Mira said, “and help with the laundry.”

Mira was loading wet clothes into a dryer when Helen got there. The head stew looked annoyed. “Helen, why did you throw Pepper’s clothes in the laundry?”

“Just the jeans,” Helen said.

“Guests’ jeans are dry-cleaned,” Mira said, “unless they tell us otherwise.”

She held up Pepper’s jeans. They looked small. Helen hoped they hadn’t shrunk in the wash.

“Now I’ll have to take these to the Atlantis dry cleaner and hope they can be rescued,” Mira said. “You haven’t started any of the guests’ ironing.”

“I’ll fold laundry and iron now,” Helen said.

Helen’s radio squawked. “Missus wants to see you in the galley,” Suzanne said.

“Probably wants to talk about the dog,” Mira said. “When you get back, work on the laundry. Don’t forget to iron the guests’ underwear.”

Helen picked up Ralph’s stained, ragged tightie whities. “Even the holey underwear?”

“Guest underwear is always perfect, no matter what the condition,” Mira said, crisp as new cotton sheets. “Now run upstairs to the missus.”

Helen had lost count how many times she’d sprinted up and down those steps. Mitzi greeted her with a welcoming yap in the galley, while her mistress continued with Suzanne’s instructions.

“Scotty and Pepper are shopping,” Beth said. “The rest of us are going to stretch our legs. We’ll be back about eight thirty to dress for dinner at Nobu. You don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight, Suzanne. We’ll probably want something light when we return later this evening—actually, it will be more like tomorrow morning. The boys like to play poker until three or four.”

“How about lobster salad?” the chef asked.

“That will do for the girls, but the boys will want more meat.”

“I have enough Niman Ranch steaks.”

“Good. They never get tired of T-bones.”

“I’ll make fries,” Suzanne said.

“And onion rings,” Beth said. “They love your onion rings. Make enough for all the boys and Pepper. That little girl has a big appetite. Oh, and maybe a light dessert. That’s it. You don’t have to do anything else.”

Beth seemed oblivious that she’d given Suzanne orders for dinner for six people at three in the morning.

She turned to Helen. “Mitzi needs a walk. She had that little accident in the salon, but it’s all gone now, thanks to Auntie Helen.”

Great, Helen thought. I’m now a poodle’s relative.

“Our little Mitzi girl was so excited, she just couldn’t wait, could you, sweetie? Now it’s time to tinkle again.”

“Yap!” Mitzi said.

Beth handed the dog to Helen, as if presenting her a gift. Mitzi cuddled in Helen’s arms. “She likes you!” Beth said. “I can’t take Mitzi into Atlantis. They don’t allow dogs, not even sweet doggy-woggies like you, Mitzi. But Auntie Helen will take good care of you. Here’s her leash.”

Beth attached a work of art trimmed in Native American silver to the dog’s lapis and squash-blossom collar.

“Enjoy your walk, baby girl,” Beth said.

Mitzi yapped once, then licked Helen’s nose.

“You’re growing on me, fur face,” Helen said as she carried the little white dog off the yacht. On the dock, Mitzi stopped at every post and piling while Helen praised her. “Good dog,” she said. “The more you do here, the less work you make for me on the boat.”

Helen enjoyed watching the marina, swarming with white-uniformed crews. Deckhands with bulging calves and thighs carried cases of beer and booze aboard the yachts. A female crew member in khaki shorts trundled a cart piled with pineapples, lemons and bananas. Near the entrance, Helen saw a tall brown-haired man in white shorts and a polo shirt. He looked a lot like Carl, the Earl’s second-in-command. A slender woman gripped his arm.

“Come on, Mitzi,” Helen said, coaxing the poodle along the dock toward the pair. As she got closer, Helen saw that the man had the same lanky body as Carl. Ten feet closer and Helen stopped dead, Mitzi’s leash wrapped around her feet.

She knew that round, open face. She recognized those squint lines. It was Carl. But it couldn’t be. The first mate was on board with the captain and the Bulgarian engineer, wasn’t he?

No, that was definitely Carl, talking to a dark-skinned woman with cropped hair and clean-cut features. Her navy Ralph Lauren shirt and shorts were no crew uniform. She was somewhere in her twenties, but she wasn’t flirting. She handed Carl a black Prada backpack so heavy she nearly stumbled under its weight.

“Do what you can to get rid of them and don’t forget my share,” she said. “Be careful. This thing weighs a ton.”

“Not to me,” Carl said, buckling it onto his broad back. But he couldn’t manage his usual easygoing amble. Carl struggled to walk under this burden, and stopped in surprise when he saw Helen.

His greeting sounded like an accusation. “Escaped your yacht chores, I see,” he said.

“Nope. Got more work,” Helen said, holding up the leash. “I’m in charge of Mitzi this evening. We’re heading back now. Handsome backpack. Looks heavy. Do you need help with it?”

“Do I look so weak I can’t carry a little backpack?” Carl asked.

But it’s not a little backpack, Helen thought. It’s huge. And I want to know what makes it so heavy.

Carl wasn’t going to tell her. She changed the subject. “Are you surprised Louise jumped ship?”

“That’s what Mira claims,” he said. “The captain believes her, but I have my doubts. That fishing charter was too far away to have just left our boat. Besides, I know Louise. She’s not a quitter. Even if she was sick of being a stew, she’d want a good reference.”

“So where is she?” Helen said.

“I hope to God I’m wrong and she took that fishing charter,” Carl said. “Otherwise, she fell overboard.”

“Would she go out on deck during the storm?”

“Unlikely,” Carl said. “The wind was so bad I could hardly open the bridge hatch.”

“What are the chances of Louise surviving if she fell into the water?” Helen asked.

“None,” Carl said. “Zero. Nada.”

CHAPTER 24

Helen was the most popular crew member on the Belted Earl that night. She’d volunteered to take the twelve-hour watch that started at eight o’clock.

One crew member always had to be on board the Earl. Thanks to Helen, the rest could party after the owners and guests left for dinner. The crew needed that free time. They’d been tumbled around like clothes in a dryer last night, then spent the day cleaning, cooking and catering to the guests.

The crew cheered Helen and made extravagant promises.

“Can I bring you back a rum punch?” Sam asked.

“One lousy drink?” Matt the bosun asked. “That’s all for a night of freedom? I’ll bring you a whole six-pack of cold Kalik and a conch salad.”

Helen laughed and shook her head.

“You can have three bars of Bvlgari soap,” Mira said. “Only used once.”

“Now, that bribe I’ll take,” Helen said.

“I’ll make your favorite dessert for the crew dinner,” Suzanne said. “Just name it.”

“I like all your food,” Helen said. “I don’t have favorites. Well, maybe chocolate.”

“Piece of cake,” the chef said. “A double chocolate mocha cake.”

“Sold!” Helen said, laughing.

“Seriously, Helen, I have to start working at midnight,” the chef said. “I can come back at eleven if you need to get away.”

“No, thanks,” Helen said. “As soon as the guests leave, I’ll finish the stateroom turndowns and the laundry. Then I want to rest.”

Helen did want to rest. She also wanted to talk to Phil with no eavesdroppers. And search the cabin for clues to Louise’s disappearance. The captain might believe she’d left the ship, but Helen had her doubts. She’d heard her gripe like everyone. But why would a hard worker like Louise abandon a good job—and a good paycheck—without notice? Why go home on a strange charter? Just because the unknown captain and crew were American didn’t mean it was safe to travel with them.

She was shaken by her conversation with Carl. It had never dawned on her that Louise might have been lost overboard.

While the crew waited for the owners and guests to return from Atlantis, Helen and Mira prepared the party area on the upper aft deck for predinner cocktails.

“This is my favorite place on the yacht,” Mira said, leaning against the rail. “It’s perfect for a party: open to the island breeze with a canopy of stars.”

“I’d love to stretch out in this chaise,” Helen said, plumping the azure cushions. “And have someone bring me champagne.”

She knew there was no chance of that. After they finished, Helen ran downstairs and threw in another load of laundry, then started the stateroom turndowns. Like all the crew, she watched the clock. It was now eight thirty-six. The owners and guests were late.

Earl, Beth, Rosette and Ralph straggled back at eight fifty-two, then settled into the teak lounges and rattan settees, laughing and lingering over drinks. Mitzi curled up at her mistress’s sandaled feet. Scotty and Pepper arrived at two minutes after nine. “I can’t wait to show off Scotty’s presents!” she said.

Soft music, flower-scented breezes and the slap-slap of waves on the hull lulled the yachters into a pleasant daze.

The chef, Mira and Helen pasted on smiles and prayed they’d leave for dinner soon. The clock hands were racing now, killing the crew’s precious free time.

In between serving cocktails, Helen slipped on disposable gloves and cleaned the guest heads six times and answered yet another carefully coded call to “walk the dog.” How big were the kidneys on a six-pound poodle? she wondered as she scrubbed the carpet.

At nine seventeen, Earl finally said the words the crew waited for: “What time are our dinner reservations?”

“Ten o’clock,” Beth said.

Scotty checked his watch. “Then we’d better get in gear,” he said.

“I can’t wait to try the food,” Pepper said.

“At Nobu’s prices, she’ll bankrupt him by dessert,” Rosette whispered to Ralph. Her stringy spouse snorted.

Earl gently shooed his guests to their staterooms.

Helen and Mira hurried to clean up again. Helen came downstairs in time to see the guests leaving. Well-tailored black dinner jackets slimmed the tubbier men. Pepper looked like a Hollywood queen in a long white sheath and a glittering diamond-and-emerald choker and bracelet. She’d gotten her wish—her emeralds were bigger than Beth’s. Helen thought the choker was an oddly symbolic choice.

Beth could still command a catwalk in her sleek black strapless column set off by vivid floral bands. Helen recognized the gown from Armani Privé’s “homage to Japan” collection. Beth had arranged her blond hair geisha-style.

Rosette wore an aquamarine necklace and a prosaically pricey evening gown striped in Caribbean colors that bared her scrawny arms.

Helen could feel the group’s almost theatrical excitement. They were looking forward to dinner—and to their own grand entrance.

Once they were gone, Mira rushed off to clean the master stateroom. Helen ran downstairs to take more towels out of the dryer and throw in a load of crew laundry. Mitzi trotted behind her. Helen poured the poodle some Fiji water, scratched her soft ears and carefully shut her in the crew mess. Its tile floors were easier to clean than the carpet. Mitzi happily chewed on a peanut butter treat.

The Paradise stateroom wasn’t too bad, but Bimini was a wreck, thanks to Ralph. He flung his clothes about like confetti. The bathroom was unspeakable. The man wasn’t as housebroken as Mitzi.

She was scrubbing the gold fixtures when she heard Mira scream: “Helen, what have you done?” She hurried into the crew mess.

“Why did you wash a red T-shirt with the white polos?” Mira asked. She held up a wet red shirt. “This is Matt’s new T-shirt. You threw it in with the crew polos and dyed them pink.”

“I’m sorry,” Helen said. “What do I do now?”

“The rest of the crew laundry,” Mira said, “so they have enough white shirts for tomorrow. And this time, separate the colors.”

“Is there any way I can make up for this?” Helen said.

“You already did,” Mira said. “You took tonight’s watch. Everyone makes mistakes. Just don’t do it again, okay?” She smiled. “It’s ten thirty. I’m leaving.”

“I’ll throw in another load of guest towels after I ruin the rest of the crew’s laundry,” Helen said. Mira laughed.

Helen yawned. “I need to rest while the owners and guests are at dinner.”

At last, Mira was gone and Helen was alone. Time to search the cabin she never got to share with Louise. Both bunks were made, their covers drawn tight. Louise’s three drawers were empty. None of her things were in the closet. Nothing was under Helen’s bunk.

She found traces of sticky tape on the wall over Louise’s bunk. Did the stew take a family photo or boyfriend’s picture?

Louise’s toothpaste and toiletries weren’t in the bathroom cabinet. Helen opened a bottle of aspirin and shook out two tablets—not worth packing. Neither was the small box of tampons. But it rattled oddly when Helen moved it. Inside was a prescription bottle for Louise Minette, filled with half-orange, half-white capsules. “Dilantin,” the label read. What was that?

Helen fished her BlackBerry out of her purse and Googled “Dilantin.” It was an antiseizure drug. Could Louise work on a yacht if she took that? Maybe that was why she’d hidden it. Would she leave it behind? If Louise had a seizure on the trip home, she could die. Unless she never made that trip. In that case, where were her luggage and her purse?

Helen would have to tell the captain what she’d discovered. In the meantime, she left the tampon box there.

I’ve found something, Helen thought. She punched in Phil’s number. She felt like she’d been away for a month instead of a day.

“Helen!” he said. “I’ve missed you. I had a break in the case.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“I can’t use names on a cell phone. Too risky. I followed the lady this afternoon—or rather Bob the Cool Guy did. He drove north to Deer in the Headlights, a bar in Deerfield Beach. Cool Bob got out his toolbox and followed her into the bar. Let me tell you, she was one hot widow in a red strapless top, skintight black pants and red heels.”

“You’re quite the fashion expert,” Helen said.

“Bob is a trained observer,” Phil said. “He observed the subject throwing herself into the arms of a shaggy-haired surfer dude. He must have been in mourning, too. He wore a tight black T-shirt and jeans.

“Bob told the waitress he was there to check the air-conditioning vents. He went around the corner from the lady and Surfer Dude’s booth, opened his stepladder and unscrewed the vent cover. Bob heard everything the lady and the dude said.”

“Very cool,” Helen said. “What was it?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as you get back,” he said.

“Can’t you give me a hint?” Helen begged.

“All I can say is our client was right. The lady has a boyfriend.”

“Anything else?” Helen asked.

“Oh, yes,” Phil said. “Your sister’s called four times so far tonight. She won’t say why, but she wants to talk to you, no matter how late.”

“I’ll call as soon as I hang up,” Helen said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. She had a good idea why Kathy had called.

“How about you?” Phil asked. “How was your trip?”

“Rough,” Helen said. “A waterspout was sighted and we had to find a safe harbor in Bimini. Then Louise the second stewardess disappeared—or quit; I can’t tell which. She supposedly hitched a ride home on a Miami fishing charter. The Bahamian officials are looking for her. But Louise left behind some seizure medicine. I think that points to a disappearance.”

“Why would she quit like that?” Phil asked.

“She’s sick of her job and wants to be with her boyfriend in Fort Lauderdale. I heard her say that myself. But if she didn’t take that charter boat, she must have fallen overboard. That means she’s dead, Phil. It makes me sick to think about it.

“Oh, and a guest used to date a hooker with the same name as our client’s stepmother. Can you e-mail me the photo you took of her? I want to show it to the captain.”

“And the other staff, too,” Phil said.

“No, I’m supposed to be undercover,” Helen said. “There’s a lot going on here. I think the first mate is smuggling something. The creepy first engineer, Andrei, met some guy at the Lauderdale marina and he may have made plans to meet up with someone tonight. Everybody is off the yacht now except me. Wait a minute! Phil!”

“What? Helen, talk to me.”

“There’s a little boat approaching the yacht,” Helen said. “It doesn’t have any running lights. Stay on the phone with me until I know who it is.”

Helen peered out the window on the main deck. “It’s the Bulgarian engineer. He’s staggering drunk and carrying something in his backpack. How did he get so smashed in two hours? He’s coming in by the swim platform. I’d better watch him in case he falls.”

“Helen! Don’t do anything stupid.”

“He’s so drunk he’s in more danger of hurting himself than me,” Helen said.

“Don’t hang up,” Phil said.

“Sh!” she said. “He’s aboard now, crashing around the lower aft deck. I’ll stay up on the main deck.”

Helen heard knocks, thunks and a curse as the Bulgarian engineer made his way to the crew mess. Then she heard a tremendous crash and a yip. What if that brute kicked the poodle?

“I think he hurt Mitzi,” Helen said. “I’m going downstairs to check. I’ll keep the phone on.”

“Helen! What do I do if anything’s wrong?”

“Call the captain’s cell phone. You have his number.”

Helen slipped her phone into her pocket and cautiously made her way down to the crew mess. Mitzi was cowering behind a laundry basket. The Bulgarian engineer was gobbling cold leftover pasta out of a plastic bowl. Next to him was a backpack with a square bulge.

“Helen!” His smile revealed yellow teeth. His accent was thicker when he was drunk. “Have surprise for you. You like chocolate, no?”

“Yes,” Helen said.

“Good. I bought big box of chocolate liqueur. Gourmet chocolate bottles filled with Jack Daniel’s, Grand Marnier, Cointreau, Baileys Irish Cream.” He patted the backpack. “You have some with me?”

“Sure,” Helen said. She wanted to see what was in that backpack.

“All ladies like chocolate,” he said, and exposed more teeth. Andrei would have to drink his women into bed, Helen thought.

Andrei stood up. “I take piss first. Then we open chocolate and be friends.”

Classy as ever, Helen thought.

Andrei opened the hatch to the crew cabins and stumbled down the passage.

Helen could hear Phil sputtering and shouting, even though the phone was in her pocket. She took it out.

“What the hell are you doing?” Phil shouted. “He’s drunk and you’re on that boat alone with him.”

“I have my cleaning caddy with me. I can shoot him in the face and blind him. I have to hang up now and see if Mitzi is okay. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

She hung up over Phil’s furious protests.

CHAPTER 25

Helen heard hoggish grunts and swinish snorts coming from a crew cabin in the passage. Andrei, she decided. She slid open the door. The Bulgarian engineer was sprawled motionless on the lower bunk, mouth open, left arm flung out. His chest wasn’t moving. Maybe he was in a coma. Or dead. She’d read about death from alcohol poisoning and Andrei had drunk a lot in a hurry.

Helen moved closer to check. She wasn’t losing a crew member on her watch. The engineer erupted in a loud snort and an explosion of alcohol fumes. She leaped back and softly shut the door.

Andrei was dead drunk, not dead.

Time to open that backpack he’d abandoned in the crew mess. The boxy bulge inside tantalized her. It was the right size for a haul of emeralds. Helen wanted Andrei to be the smuggler. He was the most dislikable crew member. Once she caught the smuggler, this case was closed. She’d stay as a stew until the boat docked in Fort Lauderdale, but then she’d be free.

A whimpering Mitzi met Helen at the crew mess hatch. She was limping slightly. Helen picked her up. The poodle was warm, soft and light as a powder puff. As she petted her, Helen gently felt the tiny body for bruises or breaks. Mitzi didn’t yelp when she touched her.

“Good girl,” Helen said, gently setting the little dog back on the floor. “What meanie would kick you?”

She fetched Mitzi another peanut butter treat. Mitzi sat up and danced.

“I think you’re okay, girl,” she said. “I didn’t see Andrei kick you, but I’ll let the captain know he has a possible puppy abuser on board.”

“Yap!” Mitzi said.

“Sh! Don’t wake him. I’m trying to get him arrested for smuggling.”

The bright-eyed poodle wagged her tail. Helen quickly unzipped the backpack. She saw green. Lots of green.

A huge dark green box marked “Fine Chocolate Liqueurs.”

No! That couldn’t be. There must be some mistake. There had to be. The box was shrink-wrapped with plastic, so she couldn’t open it. Helen rattled it.

That was not the sound of loose gemstones. Helen’s heart sank. Andrei was no smuggler.

She took out her phone and checked her messages. She had one from Phil with an attachment and twenty-six from her sister, Kathy. She listened to Kathy’s first message. Her little sister was crying with fright. “Helen, it happened. I knew it would. You have to call me now! Please. I don’t care if it’s two in the morning.”

Helen didn’t bother listening to Kathy’s other messages. She could almost see her sister anxiously pacing in her homey kitchen. I did this to you, Helen thought. You had a perfect life in the burbs until I married Rob and put you on the road to worry. No wonder your hair is getting grayer.

Kathy must have been sitting next to the phone. She answered on the first ring in a heartrending whisper. “Helen! What took you so long? Never mind, Phil told me. You’re in the Bahamas. You have to come home now, Helen. He’s alive and he wants thirty thousand dollars.”

“Who’s alive?” Helen asked.

“Rob!” Kathy’s voice was a stifled shriek, the sound of a mouse caught by a bird of prey.

“How do you know?” Helen asked.

“Because he talked like Rob. He used that voice-changer thingy again, but only Rob says those things.”

“Kathy,” Helen said. “Slow down and tell me exactly what was said.”

“Okay, okay. He called right before Tommy came home from school. He said, ‘Tell Sunshine if she wants to keep her nephew out of the newspapers, I need sixty thousand.’ Rob always called you Sunshine.”

“It’s a common nickname, Kathy.” But Helen felt the panic clawing her insides. Rob couldn’t be alive.

“He also said a good Catholic like Mom would be happy that her favorite son-in-law was buried in the church. It’s him. I know it’s him.”

“Kathy, that proves nothing,” Helen said. “The blackmailer saw us bury Rob in the church basement. The whole neighborhood knows Mom was super devout.” Inside, the panic broke loose and scrabbled up her rib cage, trying to crawl out. Helen had kept this secret too long.

“He said you owed him thousands and he was going to collect every nickel,” Kathy said. “It’s Rob.”

It sure sounds like my greedy ex, Helen thought. But Kathy and I tried every test we knew to make sure Rob was dead. There was no movement, no detectable heartbeat, no breath. How did he survive?

Because he’s Rob. If the nation was nuked, only Rob and the roaches would crawl out from the ashes. Her mind was racing. He was alive.

“Helen, are you there?” Kathy asked.

“Kathy, this is good news,” Helen said. “If Rob is the blackmailer, he can’t call the police. Ever. He’d have to admit he was blackmailing us. If he made it out of that basement alive, he should have told the police right away. Instead, he acted like Rob and started demanding money from me. Don’t you see, Kathy? This is good news. Tommy is off the hook.”

“Unless I’m wrong and it’s not Rob,” Kathy said. “Then we’re in trouble. Can’t you come to St. Louis?”

“No, honey,” Helen said. “I’m out of the country. I won’t be back for at least four days.”

“What should I do? He wants the money tomorrow.”

“Pay him,” Helen said. “We knew this might happen. That’s why I set up the joint accounts. That’s my share of the money from the sale of the house Rob and I had. I’ve lived without it so far. It will buy us a little peace of mind. Get thirty thousand in cash and give it to him.”

“And then what?” Kathy’s voice trembled. “He’ll call again and he’ll want sixty thousand dollars. He doubles his demands each time. You don’t have that kind of money.”

“We’ll catch him next time,” Helen said. “I promise. Just pray it really is Rob. Then Tommy will be free—we’ll all be. I have to hang up, Sis. You’ll be okay.”

“Promise?” Kathy sounded younger than her four-year-old, Allison.

“Absolutely. I love you,” Helen said. “I have to call Phil.”

Boy, did she have to call Phil. He’d left ten messages while she’d talked to her sister. She opened the attachment first. It was a good shot of Blossom, with silky black hair, red lipstick and skintight jeans.

Helen tried to head off Phil’s anger by a rapid-fire announcement: “It’s me, I’m fine. Kathy’s fine. Andrei is not the smuggler.”

“But—” Phil said.

Helen didn’t allow him an opening. “Cut the lecture,” she said. “You don’t need to protect me. If I’m your partner, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you!” Phil yelled. “Partners keep each other informed. What you did was—”

Helen heard a clunk and checked the security camera. A short young woman was coming up the gangplank, carrying a huge load of something. Blankets? Clothes? Helen could see only her blond hair and muscular legs. Mira.

“The head stew is back,” Helen said. “Love you.” She hung up.

Mira seemed to be hauling a bale of sequins, chiffon and ruffles. Her small, pretty face looked more doll-like than ever surrounded by taffeta and satin.

“Can you help me carry this?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Mira plopped half the pile into Helen’s arms.

Evening dresses, Helen thought. With grimy hems, grubby trim and a slight scent of sweat and mildew.

“Where did you get the fancy clothes?” Helen asked.

“Little secondhand shop in Nassau,” she said. “I can’t wait to show my boyfriend.”

She held up a formfitting red evening dress that looked too long for her. Then she pulled out a shopworn rainbow—green, gold and blue—sparkling with sequins, jewels and bugle beads. There were filmy formal skirts and a passel of ruffled petticoats. Some of the dresses were bedraggled. Others had split seams and missing beading.

Helen searched for some tactful words. “Where will you wear them?”

“Oh, they’re not for me,” Mira said. “I bought them for my boyfriend.”

“And he’s a—?” Cross-dresser? Helen wondered.

“Actor in a Fort Lauderdale theater company,” Mira said. “They’re doing a production of Rain. The real production, not the watered-down version like that movie where Sadie Thompson was a nightclub singer. In Kevin’s production, she’s a whore with flashy clothes. I got this whole lot for twenty bucks. The clothes need a little work, but the company has a seamstress who can fix anything. They’d cost a fortune in Fort Lauderdale, even in this state. Good, the crew mess table is cleared. I can sort them there.”

Helen’s stomach turned at the thought of eating off a table that had held those dirty clothes. “Can we put down something first?” she asked.

“Good idea. Use the drop cloth in the cabinet.”

Helen put her pile on the floor, then spread out the drop cloth. Mira dumped her mound of gaudy dresses on the table. Helen heaped hers next to them. A worn red velvet gown with fake rubies at the neck slid off the table. Mira caught it, folded it neatly and started another pile.

“It must be fun to date an actor,” Helen said.

“It is,” Mira said, folding a clingy black dress. “I like Kevin’s job and his friends. Even though they’re actors, they’re more real than the people on this yacht. The owners and their friends, I mean.”

“Sounds like you’re tired of your job,” Helen said.

“I am. It’s no secret. I’ve been a stew for five years,” Mira said. “I’m nearly thirty. It’s time for a change. The money is good and I’ve managed to save some. I’m going to invest in Kevin’s theater company. They’re short of money, like most companies, and if they don’t get a cash infusion soon, they’ll close. Kevin would be lost without his theater. I want him to be happy.”

“Is this your last trip on the Earl?” Helen asked.

“No, I have one more and then my contract is up. I can’t wait to collect that last paycheck. Then I’m outta here. What about you? You have a boyfriend, right?”

“Phil,” Helen said, and smiled. “I can’t wait to see him when we get back.”

“I can tell by the way you smiled this dude is the one,” Mira said, folding a pale blue gown with sparkles on the full skirt.

“He is,” Helen said.

“Good,” Mira said. “Then I don’t have to deliver the lecture about island men I give the new stews.”

“Tell me anyway,” Helen said.

“A lot of island men are good-looking. They have pretty accents and lovin’ ways. The girls think what happens in the islands doesn’t count. So they have an island boyfriend or two and think the dude back home won’t ever know. But some of those handsome men give our young stews souvenirs—the kind that are hard to cure.”

“Got it,” Helen said.

“It’s not just the stews,” Mira said. “I’ve known a wife or two who told her husband she was spending the afternoon at a spa. It wasn’t a facial that gave her that glowing complexion.”

Mira folded the last dress, a grimy white formal with a rhinestone bodice. Now she had a stack nearly as tall as she was. “These are too bulky to keep in my cabin,” she said. “I share with Suzanne and we can barely move around.”

“Want to keep them in my cabin?” Helen said. “You can put them on Louise’s side of the closet.”

“That’s very generous,” Mira said. “But I’d better not, in case they have fleas or roaches. Lots of critters in the tropics, and some of them hitchhike home. Suzanne nearly dropped a plate when a big spider crawled out of some bananas she brought on board.”

“Ick.” Helen shuddered.

“I’ll pack these in a waterproof duffel and store it in the bosun’s locker.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will take them?” Helen asked.

Mira laughed. “If the boys unzip this bag and see ruffles and sequins, they’ll drop it like it’s hot.”

CHAPTER 26

Sam was drunk as a sailor.

At three in the morning, the deckhand staggered up the gangplank with a bottle of rum, stumbled through the aft deck and tumbled down the steps into the crew mess. He stayed flat on his back, not moving. His sun-streaked blond hair hung in his eyes. His mouth hung open.

Helen, who’d been nodding off over a mug of coffee at the table, was instantly awake. “Sam, are you hurt?” she asked. “Say something.”

“Oops!” he said, and waved the half-empty rum bottle in the air.

Okay, his right arm isn’t broken, Helen thought.

“Can you sit up?” she asked.

“Don’t wanna. Room keeps spinnin’,” he said.

Then he sat up and cradled the bottle. “Saved the rum. Save the baby rums. They’re en-endangererer—in trouble!”

“Right,” Helen said. “Let’s get you to bed. You have to get up at six.”

“Cap’n back yet?” he asked.

“Everybody’s here except the owners and guests,” Helen said, taking his arm. “We don’t want them to see you. Come on. Time to go to your cabin.”

Sam grabbed the crew mess table and pulled himself upright, swaying as if the yacht were plowing through heavy seas. Helen put her arm around his waist and guided Sam down the crew passage.

The deckhand was at that stage of intoxication where he loved the world. “You’re nice,” he said. “You got a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Helen said.

“Thought so. Nice girls all got boyfriends. The good ones are taken. That leaves the bad ones for me.” Sam gave Helen a lopsided grin. “Lots of those. Mira’s a nice girl, too.” He hiccuped. “An’ she has a boyfriend. We’re friends. Just friends. Me and Mira. ’Cause Mira’s a nice girl. She’d do anything for Kevin. She said she’d steal for him, even kill for him. She loves him that much. She tole me.”

“Good for her,” Helen said, sliding open the door to the cabin Sam shared with Matt. The bosun was curled up asleep.

“Sh!” Helen said, and pulled back the blanket on the lower bunk. Sam fell on it, fully dressed. Helen pulled off his deck shoes. By the time she’d covered up the deckhand, he was asleep, his arms wrapped about the rum bottle like it was a teddy bear.

Helen’s radio crackled at her belt and she hurried out before she woke up Matt and Sam.

“I need you to help set up,” the chef said. “Mira will serve and you’ll clean.”

Helen was groggy after nearly two days without sleep, but she didn’t break any gold-rimmed china.

Mira reported to the galley puffy-eyed, her face scrubbed clean, her blond hair drooping. She struggled to hide a yawn.

Suzanne seemed surprisingly alert, as if working in her galley invigorated her. The chef’s white uniform was fresh and her long dark hair was neatly tied back. The galley was far cleaner than Helen’s kitchen.

The late-night feast was ready for the final preparation: The onion rings were battered, the fries were cut and the grease was bubbling in the deep fryer. Thick, marbled steaks rubbed with garlic waited for the grill. The lobster and avocado salads chilling in the fridge looked like pink and green abstract art.

Helen’s stomach growled when she saw them. “They’re gorgeous,” she said, shutting the fridge door.

Suzanne was whisking something in a saucepan with sure, swift strokes.

“Do I smell chocolate?” Helen asked.

“Sure do. That’s a chocolate lime rum cake on the counter,” Suzanne said. “I’m finishing the sauce—it’s caramelized sugar, dark rum and lime juice.”

“That cake looks moist,” Helen said, hoping Suzanne would get the hint.

“It is,” the chef said. “It’s also for the owners and guests.”

It was nearly four o’clock when Beth, Earl and their guests returned. The men’s tuxes looked rumpled and Scotty’s jacket was sprinkled with cigar ashes.

“I’m starved,” Earl said. “When’s dinner?” He’d untied his bow tie and the ends dangled on his pleated shirt.

“I want a T-bone,” Scotty said. “Auto-accident rare.”

“I could eat a horse,” Pepper said.

“Told you that Japanese hash wouldn’t be enough,” Scotty said.

“But it was amazing,” Pepper said. “And I can tell everyone I was there.” Pepper hadn’t lost her sparkle, even at four a.m. Neither had her jewelry.

Beth was glamorous, but a little worn. Rosette looked like a plucked chicken in a designer dress.

“I could do with a nibble,” Beth said. “We’ll have our lobster salads as soon as the steaks are grilled, Mira.”

“The chef says the steaks, fries and onion rings will be ready shortly,” the head stew said. “She’s starting them now.”

“Let’s have a drink while we wait,” Earl said.

The first round of scotches and champagne disappeared faster than water in the desert. The second went almost as fast. Suzanne was plating the steaks, fries and onions when Beth told Mira, “It’s four thirty. We’re tired. We’re going to bed.”

“No food, then?” Mira asked.

“No,” Beth said. “Good night.”

The party rose, yawning and stretching, and strolled off to their staterooms without another look back. Helen saw Pepper heading for the guest head and knew she’d be looking at more cleaning. She stayed out of sight, found her caddy and slipped on another pair of disposable gloves. Sure enough, Pepper had splashed water around like a sparrow in a birdbath.

I’ve either cleaned the last head of the night, or the first of the morning, Helen thought, as she stripped off her gloves and carried the towels down to the crew mess. She’d start the laundry in an hour and a half.

Her radio crackled again. “Help me clear, Helen,” Mira said.

The two stews had the dining room dusted and sparkling in twenty minutes.

“Nobody ate anything?” Helen asked, as she polished the dining room table.

“Not a crumb,” Mira said. “They had too much to drink. Scotty, for all his talk about wanting a T-bone, was snoring in his chair after his second scotch. Pepper had to wake him up to go to sleep.”

“They didn’t even apologize,” Helen said.

“Don’t have to,” Mira said. “They’re guests.”

“What happens to the food?” Helen asked Suzanne.

“Would you like a lobster salad or a T-bone?” the chef asked.

“Can I have both?” Helen asked. She’d nuked leftovers for her dinner. They were delicious leftovers, but that was hours ago. She was hungry.

“Fries and onion rings, too, if you want,” the chef said.

“And a slice of cake?”

“No,” Suzanne said. “I haven’t put the sauce on the cake yet. It will be good tomorrow. I guess that’s today. Either way, the cake will still be fresh in a few hours.”

She fixed Helen a plate heaped with steak, onion rings and fries, and handed her a lobster salad. “Go eat in the crew mess,” she said. “I have to bake bread and muffins for breakfast.”

“Aren’t you angry that they didn’t eat your meal after all your work?” Helen asked.

“It’s part of the job,” she said, and shrugged. “That’s why they pay me so well. Like I said, it’s their money and their food. If they eat it or throw it out, it’s all the same to me.

“Now, shoo. You have to start work in a little over an hour.”

Helen wondered about Suzanne’s unnaturally calm acceptance. Was it real? Or was she hiding her anger?

CHAPTER 27

“Why were you staring at him?”

Helen heard a man’s voice—raging, demanding, drunk. Scotty? It couldn’t be. He was such a good-natured guest, playing poker, pounding down scotch and patting Pepper’s bottom. Mira had said that he was jealous, but Helen had never seen his surly side.

Now she heard his snarl clear back in her cabin.

“I didn’t do anything. He was our waiter. Of course I looked at him.” Pepper. She sounded frightened.

“You weren’t looking at his face,” Scotty roared. “You were watching his ass.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that.” She was pleading. “You know I love you. Let me show you how much. Let—”

Scotty cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it. I know what I saw.”

Helen stepped into her shower, eager to avoid Pepper’s groveling. It hurt to hear the woman humiliate herself. Helen would hide behind a curtain of water until it was over.

After she and Mira had cleared up the dining room this morning and Helen ate her lobster salad and T-bone, she had only forty minutes before she had to report to work. There was no chance to sleep. A brisk shower would have to revive her.

Helen stepped out of her box-sized bathroom in a cloud of steam and heard, “I said I was sorry. But I didn’t look at him, except as a waiter. Please believe me.” Pepper was crying and begging.

“You’re lying.” Scotty’s voice was a dangerous rumble.

“I swear. Ask Beth. Ask Earl. And Ralph and Rosette. They were at our table. They didn’t see anything.”

“I’m not asking,” Scotty said, his voice a whipcrack. “If our hosts and friends didn’t notice your outrageous behavior, I’d rather they didn’t find out what a slut you are.”

“I’m not a slut,” Pepper wailed. More weeping. Then silence. Helen hoped Pepper would pack her jewelry and leave, but she knew the little blonde wouldn’t abandon her steak-eating sugar daddy.

Helen dressed quickly and brushed her hair, trying to ignore the murmurs and sighs drifting her way. Pepper’s voice was light and teasing. “You know I love you. Let me do it the way you like. Come on. Don’t be a stubborn old silly.”

The silence changed to low moans and grunts. Makeup sex, Helen thought. She shut her cabin door and ran into the mess, where she was greeted by the crew eating breakfast. Sam winced when they shouted hello, and gulped more coffee. His face was pale under the tan.

“Helen! It’s steak and eggs for breakfast,” Matt said. “T-bones, the breakfast of champions. Join us.”

“Thanks. I ate an hour ago,” Helen said. She threw in two loads of towels, relieved that her chattering colleagues and the roaring washers drowned out the sounds of Pepper and Scotty in bed.

Helen heard Scotty whistling when he strolled out to the aft deck for breakfast an hour later. She was glad Mira served him. Helen didn’t think she could look at the man. She’d liked him before she’d heard him arguing. Helen bet Pepper wasn’t whistling this morning.

Her radio erupted. “Mrs. Crowne requested a cleanup in her stateroom,” Mira said.

Helen grabbed her caddy and rushed through the passage, wondering what kind of damage the couple had done during their fight.

“Come in,” Pepper said, when Helen knocked on the door to Paradise.

Pepper saw a bare-backed Pepper sitting at her dressing table, combing her bouncy curls. At first, Helen thought she was naked. Then she realized that Pepper was wearing a pink halter top cut low in the back—and probably the front. Her tight pants gripped her bottom. Pepper will do anything to keep that rich old man, Helen thought, and felt sorry for her.

The stateroom was neat, except for the clothes on the floor and the rumpled bed. She tried to block the picture of Pepper placating Scotty on those sheets. A half-empty glass of red wine was abandoned on the nightstand.

“How may I help?” Helen asked.

Pepper turned to face Helen, her eyes glittering with malice. “I had a little accident in bed,” she said. She walked over, picked up the red wine and poured it on the sheets.

Helen stared. She couldn’t believe Pepper had deliberately poured wine on the bed.

“Fix it,” Pepper said. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I’m going to breakfast.” She slammed the door to Paradise.

Helen stripped the bed while she muttered to herself. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you, bimbo,” she said, pulling off the duvet.

“I hope he screws you blind.” She ripped the pillows out of their cases.

“You deserve to live with Blubber Bucks until you’re so old you have to pay young men to get in your bed.” Helen yanked off the sheets.

“You had an accident in bed, all right. You crawled between the sheets with that cigar-smoking snake.” Helen had stripped the bed. There was no wine on the mattress.

By the time she’d carried the mountain of laundry into the crew mess, Helen decided that living with Scotty was punishment enough for Pepper. When I’m in bed with Phil, I’ll think of you with your flabby old coot. No, I won’t. I’ll think of Phil. My man’s good in bed. You made your bed, Pepper. Now lie in it and grovel.

Helen treated the red wine stains. Mira had said the sheets were custom-made and cost about twelve hundred dollars a set. If she couldn’t get the wine out, would she have to pay for the sheets, too? She’d wind up owing the yacht owners before she finished this job.

Helen still hadn’t a clue who was the smuggler. When Andrei was passed out, she’d missed her chance to search the cabin he shared with Carl. She should have checked the first mate’s bulging backpack. She’d been so sure Andrei was the smuggler. Then she’d talked to Phil and her terrified sister, and her night was consumed by other worries. She was too—

Frantic barks came from the aft deck, followed by a curse, then a crash of glass and china. Apologies poured from Beth. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to see a doctor? Do you need stitches? Can you work?”

Work? Beth was apologizing to a crew member?

Mira radioed Helen. “Come out to the aft deck,” she said. “Help me clean up.”

The outdoor breakfast was chaos. Earl was blotting spilled coffee with a napkin. Scotty was yelling and waving his cigar. Rosette and Ralph had backed away from the table. Pepper had stopped stuffing her face with a blueberry muffin.

Beth, in mustard-colored cotton, gripped Mitzi, who struggled to get free. The poodle wore a topaz collar and had blood on her muzzle. Beth tried to hush her little dog, but Mitzi would not stop yapping at Andrei. She must have bitten the engineer on the ankle. Helen saw blood seeping through his white sock.

A coffee cup and Baccarat glasses were overturned. Mira was carrying away a platter of bacon swimming in orange juice.

“For chrissakes, shut that damned dog up,” Earl said, his voice tight with fury.

“I don’t know what got into Mitzi,” Beth babbled. “She’s never bitten anyone. Ever. She’s such a good dog.”

She still is, Helen thought. And a brave one. Mitzi had attacked the man who’d kicked her. The blood spot on Andrei’s sock was the size of a quarter, but he acted as if he’d been savaged by a pit bull.

“Perhaps I should see a doctor,” he said. “For stitches. Or a shot. Sam or Matt can take me.”

“They have to clean the boat, Andrei.” Carl, the first mate, had been called to the crisis. “I can put a Band-Aid on it. Doesn’t look like such a little dog could do much damage.”

“She did,” Andrei said. “She has powerful jaws.”

Mira, who was clearing more plates, snorted and tried to turn it into a cough.

“I can’t spare anyone to take you to a clinic,” Carl said.

Beth put her hand over Mitzi’s mouth to silence her barks and growls. Was she worried Earl would banish the dog from the yacht?

“Atlantis has a hotel doctor,” Beth said. “They can take care of you. Mira, call the hotel and have them send a cart to fetch Andrei. You can ride in a golf cart, can’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Andrei said, a little too cheerfully. He turned his face back into a mask of pain. “I’ll manage.”

Helen gathered up the coffee cups and carried them into the galley.

“May I bring you any more food?” Mira asked the guests. “Would you like fresh coffee? Juice?”

“I want to head to the casino,” Scotty said. “What about you, boys?”

“I’ll take the girls to the spa as soon as I speak to Suzanne,” Beth said. “Helen, are you afraid to watch Mitzi?”

“No, she’s a good dog,” Helen said. She carried the poodle into the galley and fed her a peanut butter treat, while Beth relayed her instructions to the chef. “We’d like lunch at three o’clock. Make something local, Suzanne.”

The guests and owners never returned for Suzanne’s lunch of Caribbean lobster curry. But they did turn up at eight that night with four friends from another yacht, expecting dinner for ten.

Somehow, Suzanne made the food appear. The crew ate the lobster curry for dinner, and Earl and Beth’s guests raved over the chef’s spiced pork and pigeon peas and rice.

The day passed in a blur of work for Helen. While she cleaned staterooms and heads and folded laundry, she tried to make her sluggish brain run through the list of possible smugglers.

Andrei was out. Helen had watched Mira unpack the costumes, so it wasn’t the head stew. Sam didn’t seem to think about anything but rum and girls.

Dick the second engineer kept to himself. He was worth watching. So was Matt the bosun. And Suzanne. The chef brought boxes and bags aboard every day they were in port. It would be easy to hide the emeralds in those packages. She had five days to accumulate a stash.

As the day dragged on, Helen got her second wind—and an inspiration. Mira said that Louise had jumped ship carrying a bag.

Helen thought it was risky to board a strange fishing charter. But what if Louise already knew the captain? That was the easiest way to get those emeralds into the States. Especially if Louise knew Captain Swingle was on to her.

The missing second stew would be easy to find. Bahamian officials were pursuing her. Captain Swingle had her Fort Lauderdale address.

Once Louise arrived, Helen and Phil could track her down.

CHAPTER 28

“The girls are tired of champagne,” Beth said. “What else can we serve for cocktails, Suzanne?”

Helen nearly dropped her duster when she heard that request. She was cleaning the plantation shutters in the main salon while Beth planned tonight’s dinner with the chef. Bored with champagne: That seemed to sum up life on a yacht.

Beth looked like a tall, cool flute of champagne with her golden hair, pale gold silk caftan and glowing topaz jewelry. Mitzi wore a matching jewel-studded collar.

“Something island-y,” Beth prompted the chef.

“I could make planter’s punch,” Suzanne said, “or strawberry rum sliders.”

“Sliders look pretty,” Beth said. “Let’s do those. I want a special dinner, a real taste of the Caribbean.”

“We could start with salmon tartare, made with fresh Atlantic salmon,” the chef said.

“No, Scotty complained about the sushi at Nobu. Better go with a cooked appetizer.”

“How about seared scallops with fingerling potatoes and then callaloo soup?” Suzanne asked. “We’d need meat for the main course. Niman beef tenderloin with mushrooms.”

“Very festive,” Beth said. “The boys will like the beef, but the girls will want chocolate for dessert.”

“A bittersweet chocolate soufflé with cinnamon and caramel sauce,” Suzanne said.

“Perfect,” Beth said. “Have Mira call the dockmaster’s office for flowers. Don’t let the florist make the table arrangements too tall. I want my guests to see one another when they talk. Use the candles and my best china, the Royal Copenhagen. Dinner at eight, then.”

Mitzi yapped a greeting when she saw Helen, and Beth smiled at the lowly stew. “Oh, Helen, watch Mitzi while we shop,” she said. “Look how she runs straight to you. No, no! Mitzi, that’s the carpet, not your puppy pad. Oh, well, looks like you don’t have to walk her after all. See you at eight.”

She sailed out, oblivious that her dog had whizzed once more on a custom-made carpet and that Helen would have to clean it on her hands and knees. Mitzi rubbed her nose against Helen’s forehead while she attacked the spot with an enzyme cleaner.

“It’s a good thing I like you, pooch,” she told the dog. “Otherwise, I’d drop-kick you over the side.”

Mitzi wagged her tail.

The last few days had passed in a blur of work. Helen had cleaned the heads and staterooms and done laundry. She’d checked the bilges and talked to her coworkers, hoping to find out something, anything, that would help her find the emerald smuggler.

Helen was grateful she’d have turndown service and head cleaning tonight, instead of serving Beth’s grand dinner on seven-thousand-dollar-a-setting china. She was so tired, she was sure she’d break something. She felt like she was sleepwalking as she mopped the floor in the Bimini stateroom head. Mira popped in and screamed, “What are you doing?”

Helen was instantly awake. She knew she was using the right cleaner for marble. She’d checked. “Mopping the floor,” she said.

“You never put a bucket of soapy water on a marble floor,” Mira said. “Never. It leaves a ring.” She snatched up Helen’s bucket and moved it to the commode lid.

“There,” she said, and managed a smile. “No harm done. I caught it in time. I stopped by to give you our good news. The yacht owners and their friends will spend all day tomorrow at Atlantis. They’re letting the crew take the tender and the toys—the Jet Skis and the WaveRunners—to a cove where we can swim and play.”

“Wonderful,” Helen said.

“We need to have all our work finished before noon tomorrow.”

“Sounds like fun, but I’ll stay on the boat,” Helen said. And call Phil and search for those emeralds, she thought.

Mira looked disappointed. “Oh, Helen, you need your fun or you’ll burn out,” she said. “The only way we stand these brutal hours is if we get to play.”

“You go ahead,” Helen said. “I need my rest, too.” She faked a yawn.

“How much rest?” Mira asked. “Do you want to sleep the whole afternoon or would you like to make a little extra money? Andrei and Carl always pay a stew to clean their cabin. Louise did it, but she’s gone. You’d be doing me a favor if you took the job.”

“I’d be delighted,” Helen said. She was, too. She’d wanted to search that cabin since she’d seen Carl board with his mysterious backpack.

“You won’t thank me when you clean the boys’ shower,” Mira said.

“They can’t be any worse than Ralph,” Helen said.

“I’ll throw in a load of laundry for you as a thank-you present,” Mira said.

The day passed quickly. Helen caught a glimpse of the splendid table before the glittering guests sat down to dinner at eight. The soft candlelight warmed the honey oak table and made the crystal sparkle like fine jewels. The centerpiece was delicate seashells and small, exquisite flowers.

“It’s lovely,” Helen said as she hurried off to clean the guest head. Scotty had turned the bathroom into an ashtray. How did he get ashes on the sconces? And did he have to stub out his cigar in the marble basin?

The harder she scrubbed, the more the cigar residue turned into a streaky paste. I’m not cut out for this job, she thought resentfully. Phil’s working for a hot, horny widow and I’m swabbing toilets like a drudge. I’m sure my husband isn’t interested in a woman like Blossom. Well, pretty sure. But I’d feel a lot better if I could go home and make sure. And I can’t do that until I solve this wretched emerald case.

Helen gave the basin one last swipe. There. The cigar ash was gone. She sprayed the head with vanilla air freshener to get rid of the cigar stink and slipped downstairs to fold more laundry and finish the guest turndown service.

After dinner, Ralph, Scotty and Earl knocked back the last of the thirty-year-old cognac. At three in the morning they stumbled off to bed.

Helen helped Mira clean the upper aft deck. All the men had been smoking cigars, and Helen was dusting away the ash.

“Did I tell you my good news?” Mira asked, gathering up the cognac bottle and glasses. “I got a text from my boyfriend. We’re going to New York as soon as we get back to Fort Lauderdale. The yacht gets in about eleven and the crew should be finished by noon. Kevin and I are booked for a three o’clock flight to LaGuardia that afternoon. Four days in Manhattan.”

“Bet you can’t wait to see the Broadway shows,” Helen said.

“I can’t,” Mira said. “But Kevin has a chance to try out for an off-Broadway show. Well, off-off-Broadway. But it’s still a New York theater credit.”

“Congratulations,” Helen said. “That’s—”

Crash!

“Was that coming from the galley?” Helen asked.

“Sounds like it,” Mira said. “I hope Suzanne didn’t drop any Baccarat.”

The crash was a disaster. Suzanne had broken a Baccarat snifter and an entire place setting of the rare Royal Copenhagen. More than seven thousand dollars would be docked from her pay.

The chef was picking up the pieces from the galley floor. Long strands of dark hair had escaped their clip and her face sagged with fatigue. Her fingers trembled as she cleaned up the broken pieces. Helen thought she saw tears in Suzanne’s sad brown eyes.

“I’m sorry about that,” Helen told her.

Suzanne shrugged. “Those are the breaks, no pun intended,” she said. “I’ll roll with it.”

Helen wasn’t sure she believed her.

CHAPTER 29

At eight the next morning, Helen saw the chef stumble through the galley door, loaded with cloth bags and cardboard boxes of fish and produce. A coconut teetered atop a bag of lettuce, limes and lemons. It tumbled off as the chef crossed the threshold.

Helen abandoned her cleaning caddy and caught the coconut before it hit the floor. Suzanne didn’t acknowledge her timely catch.

“Here, let me help you,” Helen said, taking a bag overflowing with oranges. “Where are the boys?”

“Working,” Suzanne said. She sounded impatient. “We’re all working so we can swim this afternoon. They have to wash the boat before we can go.”

The chef unwrapped a fat silvery fish, so fresh it smelled like the sea. In another bag, Helen caught a flash of glittering green. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” the chef said. “I have work to do. So do you.”

Dismissed.

As she left with her caddy, Helen saw the chef stow the bag with the tantalizing glimmer in a cabinet. Helen would investigate later.

The guests were up shockingly early this morning, eager to go to Atlantis. The crew would be gone in a few hours. Helen couldn’t wait. She even looked forward to cleaning Andrei and Carl’s cabin. The first mate had acted oddly with that backpack. Helen had to know why.

Shortly after eleven o’clock, the crew was at the swim platform in their suits, bodies shiny with sunscreen, beach towels slung over their shoulders. Mira climbed aboard the tender and issued a halfhearted invitation. “You’re sure you won’t come with us?”

“Go!” Helen waved them away. “You’re wasting party time.”

“Listen to the lady,” Sam called, popping a beer and toasting her.

Helen ran back into the yacht. She was alone, except for the captain. She found her cell phone, then ran up to the bridge and tapped on his door.

The captain was frowning at paperwork. “You’ve found the smuggler,” he said.

“Not yet,” she said. “I need your help with another case. Do you recognize this woman?”

The captain studied the photo on her cell phone, then said, “Her name is Blossom. She was a guest about a year ago. Scotty brought her.”

“Is she a hooker?” Helen asked.

Josiah hesitated.

“Our conversation is confidential,” Helen said. “This woman may have murdered a man in Florida. She has an outstanding warrant for prostitution in California. We’re trying to trace her movements before she met the victim.”

“I believe she’s a prostitute,” Josiah said. “She dressed like one and her behavior upset the women. Scotty shipped her back to California after the cruise.”

Helen noticed that “shipped” made it sound as if Blossom were defective merchandise. “Did she steal from him?” she asked. “You’re not breaking any confidences. I heard Beth say so.”

“Yes,” Josiah said. “She ran off with about fifty thousand dollars in cash and jewelry. Scotty refused to report it.”

Helen nodded. “She surfaced in Lauderdale about a month ago, newly married to another rich older man. His family believes she killed him. But Blossom has completely changed her appearance.”

“Not completely,” Josiah said. “I recognize her.”

“You know the rich better than I do,” Helen said. “Let me run a theory by you: Blossom wanted to marry a rich man. She latched onto Scotty, but made major mistakes. Scotty wanted rid of her. She stole from Scotty and used his money to land another prospect.”

Josiah nodded. “That could happen.”

Yes! Now ideas zinged through Helen’s brain, sparking thoughts and creating connections.

“With Scotty’s fifty thousand, Blossom could buy a new identity and the right wardrobe,” Helen said. “She was aboard the Earl long enough to know how women in this world dress. She could have hired a personal shopper. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Josiah said. “It’s possible she learned from her mistakes and caught another wealthy man. But I’m paying you to catch my smuggler.”

“I should have something for you by tomorrow,” Helen said. In fact, I’m on my way to catch the smuggler now, she thought.

Helen headed straight for the galley where Suzanne had stashed the bag with the fascinating flash of green. Please let it be emeralds, she thought. Smuggling would explain why Suzanne had laughed off the abandoned late-night dinner and shrugged away seven thousand dollars’ worth of broken china.

The chef had the ideal setup for smuggling. She had to go into town every day to buy fresh food. She talked to strangers in the marketplace and fishermen in port. She and the deckhand carried boxes and bags back to the yacht daily. Cute, ditzy Sam would never search them unless they were loaded with free beer.

Helen went straight to the cabinet and opened it. The chef was bold. She hadn’t bothered hiding the bag. Helen’s heart leaped when she saw the green sparkle in the strong Bahamian sunlight. She reached for that green glimmer.

And pulled out a T-shirt trimmed with fake green jewels and the slogan IT’S BETTER IN THE BAHAMAS.

Emeralds, indeed! Helen threw it down in disappointment. Then she got a grip on herself, folded the shirt, put it back in the bag and slammed the cabinet shut. The chef hadn’t been hiding anything. She was simply in a sour mood this morning.

So am I, Helen thought. I need to work off this anger. Time to clean the boys’ cabin. She threw in two more loads of laundry, then grabbed her caddy, prepared to face Andrei and Carl’s mess. She snapped on a fresh pair of disposable gloves.

When she opened the cabin door, the fug was a slap in her face. The room smelled like old socks and stinky feet. She couldn’t see the floor for the dirty uniforms and mildewed towels. At least the two had made their bunks. Helen threw their soiled laundry into the passage and tossed their empty beer cans. Removing the sticky drink rings on the oak chest took real elbow grease.

The boys had managed to beat Ralph in the competition for filthiest onboard head.

Helen scrubbed furiously at the fixtures, the mirror, the furniture and finally the floor.

She would not search for Carl’s black Prada backpack until this cabin was clean. The backpack would be her reward for hard work.

An hour later, the cabin smelled of lemon polish and Scrubbing Bubbles.

Helen was ready to claim her prize. It had to be in the closet, but the door was jammed. She struggled to wrench it open, felt it give, then ducked. Out tumbled smelly shoes and a landslide of girlie magazines. She wondered if the Bulgarian engineer was the one excited by Big Booty Women.

Carl’s backpack was wedged in the far corner, a black Prada boulder. Helen pulled it free. Please, be what I’m looking for, she prayed, as she shoved aside the debris, then sat on the floor to unzip the backpack. It was so overloaded, the zipper kept sticking. She eased it open, inch by inch.

At last, she could see what was inside: gold and white cardboard boxes, like the ones for jewelry. Yes!

Helen opened the first box and saw dull black. A women’s Gucci leather wallet, still in the box.

What?

She opened another box. A slim Fendi wallet. Then a red Miu Miu cosmetics case. Helen counted some thirty wallets, cosmetic cases and clutch purses. They weren’t fakes. These were designer labels.

From her time in retail, Helen estimated the first mate had about twelve thousand dollars in designer wallets stashed in that backpack.

The captain had a smuggler on board, but not the one she was hired to find. She’d tell Josiah, but she’d have to keep searching.

Wrong again, Helen thought, as she refilled the backpack and shoved it in the corner.

I’m useless on this trip. She dumped smelly shoes back into the closet and heaped the magazines after them. I’ll have to clean my way to the Bahamas and back again, if I don’t find the emeralds—and fast. We leave for Lauderdale tomorrow evening.

I may be a partner in Coronado Investigations, but I’m not Phil’s equal. Being a private eye had sounded so romantic. At worst, I expected to be bored on a long stakeout. Hah. I’ll be the only PI with dishpan hands and housemaid’s knee.

She checked her watch. Two o’clock. The crew wouldn’t be back for three hours. Time to face another failure, Helen thought. I have to call my sister, Kathy, and find out if the blackmailer took the cash. That was my fault twice: first for marrying Rob, then for trying to catch the blackmailer alone. The last time he made a demand, I staked out the money drop—and fell asleep. I’m a real Samantha Spade.

Helen braced herself and speed-dialed her sister. Kathy answered on the first ring, jumping into the conversation without a hello. “Rob took the money,” she said. “I left thirty thousand dollars in a grocery sack on the same Dumpster—the one in the abandoned strip mall. Then I went to Target and when I got back, the cash was gone.”

“Either the blackmailer got it,” Helen said, “or a homeless person hit the jackpot.”

“It had to be Rob,” Kathy said. “He hasn’t called since. But he’ll want more. What are we going to do when he doubles the money again? You can’t pay him sixty thousand next time.”

“I’m not going to,” Helen said. “I’ll bring Phil with me. We’ll do a stakeout and catch him.”

“But you can’t! You promised.” Kathy’s voice was shrill with panic.

“I promised I wouldn’t ruin my nephew’s future,” Helen said. “But if the blackmailer really is Rob—and you’re convinced he is—then it’s time to call in Phil and end this charade. I’m not lying to my husband anymore, Kathy. It will ruin my marriage. You can do what you like about your Tom, but I’m bringing in a professional detective. We can trust Phil to protect your boy. He’ll be angry at me, but he’ll help. I just hope I don’t lose the only man I’ve ever loved.”

A chasm seemed to open before Helen. Life without Phil would be unbearable.

Kathy’s frantic plea interrupted Helen’s vision of her lonely, loveless future. “What do I do the next time he calls?” she asked.

“The blackmailer only calls your landline,” Helen said. “I’ll send you a telephone jack and a pocket digital recorder. Hide them near the phone. When he calls, stick the suction cup on the receiver and record his call. When Phil catches the blackmailer, we’ll have a recording for the police. Rob will be trapped. Tommy will be saved.”

“I’m not good with mechanical things,” Kathy said.

“Then you’d better learn,” Helen said. “I’ll send you the recording equipment. Set it up and call the time and temperature recording every day. Do it until you can slap on the jack’s suction cup automatically.”

“I’ll try,” Kathy said.

“No,” Helen said. “You will practice until you don’t have to think about it. It’s the only way to save your son. Promise?”

“I promise,” Kathy said. “Are you sure this will work?”

“You know I’d do anything for Tommy,” Helen said. “I love you, baby sis.”

After Helen hung up, she realized she hadn’t answered Kathy’s question.

She still had time to call Phil before the crew returned. She hoped he could answer his cell phone at work. She didn’t exhale until he said, “Helen! I can talk for a minute. I’m outside checking the pool.”

“I have news,” Helen said. “The captain confirmed the shady lady dated a yacht guest.” She repeated their conversation, minus any names.

“Good work,” he said. “Have you found the smuggler?”

“No,” Helen said. “The boat doesn’t get back until the day after tomorrow. We’ll finish our chores about noon.”

“Plenty of time to catch a crook,” Phil said. “You’ll find him. I’m always right.”

“I won’t waste time discussing that. What’s happening with our other case?”

“Lots,” he said. “I can’t say more on a cell phone. I found out what killed our man. But I can’t connect it to the lady yet.”

“Has she been meeting with Surfer Dude?” Helen asked.

“Yes and no,” he said. “They met once and I followed them. The second time Surfer Dude had a fatal accident.”

“He’s dead? She killed him?” Helen asked.

“The police aren’t sure, but I am. He died in West Hills. Our friend Detective McNamara Dorsey is on the case.”

“She’s good,” Helen said. “She’ll figure it out.”

“If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a little help.”

“Did the lady kill him the same way?” Helen asked.

“No. I’ll keep looking for the method.”

“Be careful, Phil. I love you and I don’t want to lose you.”

Helen heard a thunk and laughter. The crew was back. She sleepwalked through her work for the rest of the day. The owners and guests returned at two a.m. and went straight to bed. The staff was free.

Helen showered and dried off in her narrow bath. She banged her elbow on the wall and noticed she was nearly out of toilet paper. Helen found a spare roll and took the cardboard core off the holder. The spindle sprung apart. Inside was a tightly wound wad of bills.

Hundred-dollar bills.

Helen counted them. One. Two. Three … on up to ten. One thousand dollars.

She stared at the money while the thought formed in her buzzing brain. Louise didn’t buy a trip home on the charter boat. The thousand-dollar stash was still in her cabin.

CHAPTER 30

Mira had lied. Louise hadn’t left the yacht on a Miami-based fishing charter.

Helen staggered out of her steaming bathroom with the thousand dollars still clutched in her hand. She sat on her bunk, stunned.

Why did Mira lie? What did it mean?

Was Louise washed overboard? What was she doing out on deck? And why didn’t Mira report her missing?

A wave of sickness flooded through Helen. Louise was dead. There was no way she could have survived that violent sea. And Mira had kept silent. Louise’s death must have been Mira’s fault somehow. Either Louise fell overboard—or she was pushed.

The head stew didn’t want to admit her responsibility.

It was two forty-eight in the morning. Helen didn’t want to wake the captain at this hour. He couldn’t save Louise now. This news could wait another three hours.

Louise is dead. She’s dead. Dead.

Helen couldn’t stop thinking about it. She’d seen the wild water from the safety of the yacht. She’d felt it slam the ship. Poor little Louise, lost in the ferocious waves. She could see her hopeless struggle as the ship sailed away.

The second stew’s death added to Helen’s sense of failure. Louise was dead and Helen had failed to find the smuggler. Now she’d have to work another week on the yacht. Life aboard the Earl had lost its charm. It was dreary and deadly.

Helen needed sleep. She put a pillow over her head, but couldn’t smother the pictures flashing through her mind. She saw Louise disappearing in the crashing waves. She felt the stew’s hopeless struggle. Despair seemed to seep into the cabin like damp.

Helen must have dozed off sometime after four in the morning. When she checked her alarm clock again, it was four thirty-two. She’d have to get up in less than an hour. The clock’s digital numbers gave the room a faint green glow. She couldn’t escape emeralds even in her bunk.

Her restless dreams were lit by the dull green glint of fake emeralds and the green fire of Max’s ring. The smuggler’s pinkie ring was real. She’d seen that same green sparkle since the dinner with Max.

Beth? The boat owner had worn a savage emerald necklace and her poodle had an extravagant emerald collar and leash. Pepper wore an emerald-and-diamond choker with her film-goddess dress. All those stones had had that authentic blaze, like spring leaves igniting.

But those emeralds didn’t nag at Helen. There were other jewels. She could see them in her mind. They were just as sparkling, but the gowns weren’t as glamorous.

Gowns! That was it!

The rubbishy gowns that Mira brought on board, covered with jewels. Helen had thought they were fake. Now she wasn’t sure. Mira had stowed them in the smuggler’s hiding spot, the bosun’s locker.

Helen leaped out of bed, threw on her uniform, grabbed the emergency flashlight and slipped it in her pocket. She tiptoed out of her cabin. In the passage she heard a symphony of snores: The crew was still asleep. Helen climbed the ladder to the bosun’s locker and turned the hatch wheel.

She was in. It was still dark outside and the space was a metal cave. She shone the flashlight around the locker, picking out shammy mops, yacht brushes and buffing tools. Mira’s waterproof duffel melted into the shadows behind the plastic buckets.

Helen dragged the bag out, plopped it down on a gray plastic storage bin and unzipped it. Out tumbled grimy satin, worn velvet and tired chiffon studded with glass rubies, plastic sapphires and cheap rhinestones. Except—what was that?

The belt on a sea green gown flashed in the light. This was different from the dull glitter on Suzanne’s green T-shirt. Emerald-cut stones blazed like green bonfires. Each stone was nearly an inch long. There were twenty.

Helen had found the emeralds.

Mira was smuggling jewels. Helen pieced together their conversations and indicted the head stew in her mind:

Mira said she was investing in her boyfriend’s theater company. Helen knew Mira wasn’t using her savings as a stew. Those wouldn’t finance a high school play. Mira wanted to be a real angel and shower the theater with the proceeds from smuggled emeralds.

Mira said she and her boyfriend were flying to New York the day the Earl docked in Lauderdale. So Kevin could try out for a New York production? Maybe. To sell smuggled stones? Helen thought that might be the real reason. Max said smugglers took the stones to brokers in Miami or Manhattan. The stew was smart to choose New York. That put more than a thousand miles between Mira and her fence.

Helen started shoving the dresses back in the duffel, then stopped. She remembered Mira folding the dresses neatly in the crew mess. Helen pulled them back out and forced herself to slow down and carefully pack the bulky dresses. She put the gown with the emerald belt on the bottom.

Helen saw only one reason for Mira’s silence about the missing Louise: She knew Mira was the smuggler. That emerald belt and the tackle box full of cut stones would give Mira at least a million dollars. Once she had the money, Helen bet, she’d never come back to the yacht.

Louise’s death would be one more mystery at sea.

Helen wanted to shout in triumph. She’d found the smuggler. Once she told the captain, she was free. Wait till Phil found out. She wouldn’t even mind his “I told you so” brag. She was an equal partner in Coronado Investigations.

She zipped the duffel closed and dropped it back behind the buckets. She didn’t need the flashlight now. Daylight poured into the bosun’s locker. The sky was a glorious pink, like the inside of a conch shell.

As she climbed back down the ladder, Helen heard the crew preparing for the day—showers, soft conversations, doors sliding shut. She was relieved she’d reached her cabin without seeing anyone.

She checked the clock. Helen had twenty minutes to dress. She could see the captain if she skipped breakfast. She was so amped on adrenaline she didn’t need coffee. She washed, brushed her hair, then ran upstairs.

Captain Josiah Swingle and Carl the wallet smuggler were on the bridge. Now the lanky first mate with the no-color hair didn’t look shrewd to Helen. She thought he seemed shifty.

Josiah was annoyingly alert early in the morning. Helen wondered what made some people natural commanders. Josiah wasn’t the tallest man on the yacht—Carl topped him by several inches. He wasn’t the strongest. Young Sam would win that title.

But he had enough authority to put them all in their place.

Helen burst through the door and said, “Captain, I need to talk to you about my contract.” That was their prearranged signal that Helen had found something.

“Would you excuse us, Carl?” the captain said.

The first mate nodded and stepped outside on the deck.

Josiah checked to make sure Carl wasn’t listening at the door, then said, “You found the smuggler?”

“Two smugglers,” Helen said. “And I have bad news about Louise.”

“Start with the emerald smuggler,” Josiah said.

“It’s Mira,” Helen said. “She’s got twenty big stones on board hidden in a duffel bag in the bosun’s locker.”

Helen watched the captain’s face. Josiah showed no surprise. He showed no emotion at all.

“Mira,” he repeated.

“She was one of your three suspects,” Helen said.

“Right,” the captain said.

“I think she’s smuggling to help her boyfriend’s theater company.”

“I don’t care why she’s doing it,” Josiah said. At last, his anger ignited. “If the Coast Guard finds those emeralds, my reputation is ruined and my boat is padlocked to the dock. It will take years to sort out the mess. I’m confiscating those emeralds and turning her in.”

“You could do that, Captain,” Helen said. “But if I may make a suggestion, Mira is planning to fly to New York at three o’clock, after we dock at the marina. How many times have you been boarded by the Coast Guard?”

“None,” he said.

“Then why not risk one more trip and let her leave the yacht with the emeralds? When we get back to Lauderdale, Phil will make an anonymous tip and her suitcase will be searched before she boards the plane to New York. That way the Earl won’t be directly involved in her takedown.”

“I like that,” Josiah said. He smiled and Helen almost felt sorry for Mira.

“Now, tell me about Louise,” he said.

“I’m afraid she’s dead,” Helen said. “I found this—a thousand dollars’ cash—hidden in the toilet paper holder in our cabin.” She handed the tightly folded bills to the captain.

“I also found her seizure medicine in a tampon box in the medicine cabinet. I left it there.”

“Why do you think she’s dead?” Josiah asked.

“Louise left her medicine behind,” Helen said.

“She could have enough pills in her purse to get home,” Josiah said.

“She didn’t take her thousand dollars,” Helen said. “She couldn’t have paid for her passage back in cash, like Mira said.”

“Helen, there are other ways a pretty young woman can pay for her passage,” Josiah said.

Now Helen felt naive and foolish. “You know Louise, Captain. Do you really think she’d get on a boat full of men she didn’t know and hook her way back to Miami?”

“No,” Josiah said. “But maybe they weren’t strangers. Crews party together when they’re in port. Louise or her boyfriend could know the charter captain or a crew member. She could have agreed to pay them when she got back to Florida. She could have come back for this money—or asked one of our crew to get it for her.”

Helen wasn’t convinced. “I still think Mira is a liar as well as a smuggler,” she said.

“Why would Mira lie?” Josiah said.

“Because Louise discovered she was smuggling emeralds,” Helen said. “Mira threw the second stew overboard in those high waves. Louise is dead and Mira killed her.”

“Mira isn’t violent,” Josiah said. “I know that.”

“Really? You didn’t know she was a smuggler,” Helen said.

Josiah didn’t react. Helen wondered if he was angry.

“If Louise suspected the head stew was smuggling, she would have come to me,” he said.

“Would she?” Helen said. “Louise is what—twenty-one?”

“Twenty-three,” Josiah said.

“You think a twenty-three-year-old toilet scrubber would have the nerve to approach you and accuse her superior of smuggling?” Helen asked. “I’m eighteen years older than Louise, and I’d think twice about accusing Mira, except I’ve seen the proof.”

“Proof, Helen,” Josiah said. “That’s what you’re missing. You have no proof Mira killed Louise. We don’t even know that Louise is dead. She could be drinking in a bar with her boyfriend right now.”

“If she is, I’ll take it all back,” Helen said. “But I’m worried about her. I know she isn’t your problem anymore. The Bahamian official said so.”

“No, she is,” Josiah said. “My ship, my crew, my responsibility. I need to know she’s safely back in the States. I’ll check with the Bahamian authorities and see if they’ve located the Aces High. I promise I’ll tell you, one way or the other.”

“A deal,” Helen said.

He was the captain. On this ship his word was law. But Helen knew Louise was dead.

CHAPTER 31

Silence followed the captain’s promise to find Louise. The waves playfully slapped the yacht’s side and the showy tropical pink sky mocked Helen’s fears.

It seemed impossible that this postcard-pretty sea had been a crazed killer a few nights ago, raising up waterspouts and six-foot waves.

But Helen knew better. The storm had been so rough she couldn’t walk the short secret passage without being thrown against a wall. Even an experienced stew like Louise couldn’t carry a tray without nearly dropping a glass.

Louise was small and wiry. Mira was a sturdy woman. Helen thought she was stronger and more muscular than the second stew.

How had she killed Louise? Knocked her out, then dragged her out on deck and thrown her overboard? Lured her out on deck by asking for help with an unsecured hatch? Told her a piece of deck furniture had come loose from its lashings and she couldn’t reach the boys to put it back?

Any of those excuses would work. And Mira could quickly wipe up the seawater after she opened a door.

Helen hoped Mira had knocked Louise unconscious first. It would be unbelievably cruel to throw her overboard alive. No one would hear Louise’s shouts for help on board the ship. She would see life—and hope—sailing away.

Helen was grateful the captain interrupted her thoughts with another question. “You said there was another emerald smuggler?” Josiah asked.

“There’s another smuggler, but he’s not bringing in emeralds,” Helen said. “Carl is smuggling wallets.”

“Wallets. What’s in them?”

“Nothing,” Helen said. “These are designer wallets, cosmetic cases and small purses. The real deal. He has about twelve thousand dollars’ worth of smuggled merchandise in a black Prada backpack in his closet.”

“Huh,” the captain said.

“Are you going to fire him when you see the wallets?” Helen asked.

“He’s a good first mate. I’d like to keep him. I will confiscate those wallets.”

“Could you wait a bit first?” Helen said. “Otherwise, he’ll know I saw you early this morning and ratted him out.”

She didn’t want to disappear over the side like Louise.

“I’ll wait till we’re back at the marina,” Josiah said.

“And then you’ll drop the smuggled wallets over the side?” Helen asked.

“We don’t pollute,” Josiah said. “But I could give them to charity.”

“One more thing,” Helen said. “I know why Mitzi attacked the engineer. I think Andrei kicked her when he came back here drunk.”

“You think? You didn’t see him?”

“No, I was upstairs. But I heard the dog yelp.”

“I wish you had seen him,” Josiah said. “I can’t fire him for something you thought you saw.” Josiah looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s six fifteen. We need to go back to work. Good job, Helen.”

Interesting, Helen thought, as she ran back to the crew mess. The captain was willing to overlook the first mate’s wallet smuggling, but talked about how he couldn’t fire the engineer unless I saw him kick the dog. I bet he’d like to get rid of Andrei. Maybe now he’ll see a way to do that.

“You’re fifteen minutes late!” Mira greeted Helen as she opened the crew door. Helen heard both washing machines churning.

“I had to see the captain about my contract,” Helen said. “I wanted to talk to him before his day started.”

She studied Mira’s face, but the head stew seemed to accept her explanation.

“Suzanne made breakfast burritos,” she said. “You can eat one now. I’ve started the laundry for you. I’m going upstairs to set up breakfast.”

The morning light made her hair shine like dull gold, but Helen caught a glimpse of the healing wound on her scalp. Did Louise fight to leave the yacht—or fight for her life?

It didn’t make any difference, Helen thought. The scab would disappear in a day or two. Even if it didn’t, the wound was proof of nothing. Mira would probably get away with murder.

“I need you to finish the guests’ ironing today,” Mira said. “It’s our last day in port and we have to hustle. Remember, we’re shorthanded.”

“I won’t forget that,” Helen said as she unfolded the ironing board.

Ugh. Ironing. Her least favorite chore. This would be the last time she ironed anything, especially sheets and underwear. This morning, it didn’t matter that Helen had only a few hours’ sleep. She felt energized. She sang as she folded laundry and hummed while she ironed Ralph’s wretched briefs. She cheerfully cleaned staterooms and scrubbed guest heads. Her real work was done.

Helen heard Beth breeze into the galley. “We’ll be at Atlantis all day, Suzanne,” she said. “Make something easy for dinner tonight. Grill steaks for the boys again. They never get tired of meat. The girls will like seafood. Maybe grilled lobster?”

“How about warm lobster potato salad?” Suzanne asked.

“Good. Caesar salads for the boys, maybe twice-baked potatoes for them, and we need a dessert.”

“Key lime tarts?” Suzanne said.

“Perfect,” Beth said. “That was easy. Where’s Helen? I want her to take Mitzi.”

Helen ran up from the crew mess. Beth looked cool in white linen with a white and silver necklace. Mitzi looked like the perfect fluffy accessory, right down to her matching collar and silver-trimmed leash.

The little dog yapped a greeting when Beth handed her over. “Pretty collar,” Helen said. “Is that white jade?”

“No, white turquoise,” Beth said.

Helen carried Mitzi downstairs to the crew mess, where she slept in a basket of dirty laundry. When Andrei showed up for lunch, Mitzi growled at him. Helen picked up Mitzi, held her and scratched her ears while Andrei shoveled in his lunch.

“What’s wrong with that crazy dog?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Helen said. “Nothing at all.” Mitzi quit growling when the engineer left. Helen put the drop cloth in the laundry basket and the poodle snoozed on it while Helen worked all afternoon.

When the owners and guests returned at sunset, Helen restored Mitzi to Beth, then served cocktails with a smile. All day long, she’d been counting the hours until she was home with Phil.

Dinner was casual. No one changed into evening dress. Beth and Pepper wore fresh makeup and cruise wear. Pepper’s diamond-and-emerald choker looked outrageously out of place with her slinky silk tank top, but she didn’t care and neither did Scotty.

“She’s lit up like cheap neon,” Rosette whispered to her smirking spouse. Helen noticed Ralph’s narrow eyes were glued to Pepper’s curvy figure.

When the Belted Earl sailed out of the Atlantis marina at nine that night, Helen and Mira were still serving the guests cocktails by starlight. Dinner didn’t start until after eleven. The guests watched the moonlight on the silky water until nearly two in the morning.

Helen could hardly look at the satiny black sea, knowing it had swallowed poor Louise. She wasn’t queasy on the trip home, though her stomach churned a bit when the ship crossed the Gulf Stream.

After the last poker hand folded at three thirty in the morning, Helen and Mira cleaned the sky lounge. At four, Helen finally fell into bed. She dragged herself out of her bunk ninety minutes later.

A quick shower revived her. So did the knowledge that this was her last day. As a special treat, Suzanne made her fabulous coconut bread for both the crew and the owners.

At breakfast on the upper aft deck, Beth looked dramatic in a red and gold silk caftan and a collar of rubies set in gold. Mitzi looked downright silly in a matching ruby collar and red bow. Rosette was drab as a sparrow in brown linen. Pepper nearly blinded the other guests when she wore her emerald-and-diamond choker with a green halter top and miniskirt. The sun danced off the diamonds and shot sparks around the table.

“I can’t believe she’s wearing diamonds in daytime,” Rosette said, with a sneer. “She’s got on more jewelry than clothes.”

Pepper turned to her. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Nothing. I was talking to my husband.” Rosette seemed to shrivel in her chair.

“I saw you laughing,” Pepper said. “Let’s all share in the joke.”

“It wasn’t funny,” Rosette said. “I mentioned to Ralph that it’s unusual to wear diamonds in the daytime.”

“You’re right,” Pepper said. “It wasn’t funny. But if you’ve got it, flaunt it. And you don’t. Stewardess, I’d like more coconut bread, please.”

The Belted Earl docked at the marina at eleven that morning. The staff lined up in their dress uniforms to bid the owners and guests farewell. Pepper and Scotty had given big tips. Mira had gotten a hundred dollars. Helen’s tip was two hundred. She wondered if Pepper was atoning for the wine incident.

You can buy forgiveness, she told herself, as she pocketed the two crisp bills.

Matt and Sam carried the luggage to the waiting limousines.

As Beth wafted past Andrei carrying Mitzi, the poodle suddenly squirmed and struggled out of her mistress’s arms. Beth lost the battle to hold on to her pet.

“Mitzi! What’s wrong with you?” Beth asked.

The poodle ran straight for Andrei and chomped his ankle in the same spot she’d bitten him before.

“Worthless mutt!” the engineer said. He grabbed the poodle by her throat and shook her until her jeweled collar rattled. Mitzi fought to bite him again.

“I ought to break your pointless neck,” Andrei said. The little dog squealed and sank her sharp teeth into his hand.

“Don’t hurt Mitzi!” Beth screamed.

“Drop that dog,” Earl shouted.

Andrei kept shaking the poodle.

Josiah waded into the shrieking, screaming cluster and pulled Mitzi off Andrei’s hand. Her teeth left deep bloody scrapes in the engineer’s skin.

“Andrei, you’re fired,” the captain said.

CHAPTER 32

The caravan of black Lincoln Town Cars was rumbling out of the marina parking lot when the yacht cleanup began. The crew moved so rapidly, Helen thought someone hit a fast-forward button.

By the time the third Lincoln left the lot, the deckhand and bosun had zipped all the canvas covers on the deck furniture. Mira had stripped the master stateroom bed and was scrubbing the shower.

“Hurry!” she said. “I have to get to the airport.”

Helen stripped the guest stateroom beds, dusted away Scotty’s ash for the last time and vacuumed the carpets.

As she rushed through the secret passage, arms piled with damp towels and soiled sheets, she saw Carl leaning in the doorway of the cabin he shared with Andrei. Helen slowed slightly to hear their conversation.

“That’s all you got?” the first mate drawled. “Those three bags?”

“Yes. And I do not think it is fair—” Andrei said, his voice a surly whine.

“Not my decision,” Carl said, cutting him off. “Where are your uniforms?”

“In the closet,” Andrei said. “The captain, he does this because I am foreigner.” Helen noticed Andrei’s accent thickened not only when he was drunk, but also when he was upset. She could feel his rage. The cramped cabin was too small to contain it.

“You’ve got a green card,” Carl said. “You’re taking a job away from a real American. Bet you bought yourself a green card marriage on the Internet.”

“My green card is legal,” Andrei said. “That is why I have job on American-registered boat.”

Carl’s drawl stretched like taffy. “Don’t see your dress uniform there, Andrei. Where is it?”

“Don’t know,” Andrei said, his voice higher.

“I think you do,” Carl said, slowly. “You still have to go through U.S. Customs. What would happen if they got an anonymous tip about your marriage? You got any wedding pictures? Still living with your wife? I bet you don’t even know where she is anymore. You can get shipped back to Bulgaria if your marriage is a fraud.”

Silence. Then Andrei said, “I might have accidentally packed it.” He sounded like a surly child.

“Well, accidentally unpack it,” Carl said.

Helen heard a zipping sound. Then Carl said, “Thank you. Soon as the captain gets back from escorting the owners and guests to their plane, he’ll hightail it to immigration at Port Everglades with you and the new stew.”

Customs! Helen had forgotten about that. She hurried past Carl to the crew mess, where Mira was loading both washers.

“Once we finish this laundry and clean the heads, we’re done,” she said. “You and Andrei have to ride with the captain to immigration. Andrei has a green card and you don’t have a boat card.”

“What’s a boat card?” Helen asked.

“You get it from the feds if you travel by private boat a lot. They’re called NEXUS cards. All the crew have them. We don’t need to go through customs. The captain just calls in our card numbers when we get into port.

“We always party at the end of a cruise, but I’m skipping this one. Kevin is taking me straight to the airport. Get ready to rock, Helen. You need to party after that crossing. You like wine or margaritas?”

“Both,” Helen said, “but I’m skipping out, too. I’m meeting Phil. I have to tell him to pick me up at Port Everglades.”

The head stew checked her watch. “The Homeland Security office is at the other end of the port by Griffin Road. There’s no gate security there. He can wait for you in the parking lot. We should be free about twelve thirty. I’ll miss you, but I won’t miss Andrei. I can’t believe he tried to hurt poor little Mitzi.”

“It wasn’t the first time,” Helen said. “I heard her yelp when he was alone with her in the crew mess one night. He may have kicked her.”

“Well, he’s gone now,” Mira said. “Finish the main salon head, will you?”

Helen cleaned the head and folded the toilet paper into a neat point.

“Done,” she told herself. Next she folded towels, still warm from the dryer, while Mira ironed the sheets.

Then she hurried to her cabin to call Phil. Just hearing his voice made her feel warm. No, not warm. Hot. Honeymoon hot. She wanted to be alone with her man.

“Helen!” he said. “I miss you. I need you. Our local case is breaking.”

“Did you catch her?” Helen asked, careful not to use Blossom’s name. “Do you know what she used?”

“Can’t say on a cell phone,” he said. “When do I pick you up?”

“I should be finished about twelve thirty,” she said, “but don’t come to the marina. I have to go through customs at Port Everglades.” She told him where.

“I’ll be waiting in my Jeep,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Helen said. “I have good news about our other case.”

“You found the … uh, person?” Phil asked.

“Can’t wait to tell you about it,” she said, and hit the END button. Two could play the “I can’t say anything on a cell phone” game.

Helen stashed her cleaning caddy for the last time, tidied her cabin and packed her small bag. When she opened her cabin door, the yacht was perfumed with a delicious aroma. It didn’t take much detective skill to track it to the galley, where the tall, thin chef was washing down the countertops.

“What smells so good?” Helen asked.

“I’m making pizza for the crew,” Suzanne said. “What’s your favorite topping?”

“I have to miss this party,” Helen said. “I’m meeting Phil right after I go through customs. I enjoyed working with you.”

“My pleasure,” Suzanne said. “I’m guessing this is your first and last cruise as a stewardess.”

Helen said nothing. Suzanne opened the oven door and took out two pizzas, oozing cheese. Red rounds of pepperoni and brown sausage were embedded in the top like greasy jewels.

“I thought so,” she said. “Will you do one last chore and carry these to the crew mess?”

Matt, Sam and Dick, the second engineer, attacked the pizzas as soon as Helen set them on the table. She heard the spoit! of beer tops popping. Carl didn’t join the hungry crew. He stayed with Andrei in their cabin. Was the captain worried his fired engineer would damage the yacht?

Helen ran down the passage and asked Carl, “Would you like some pizza?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m staying on board after the captain dismisses the crew and takes you and Andrei to Port Everglades. I can eat then.”

Andrei was slumped on his bunk, sulking. His black polo shirt seemed to accent the dark pits in his skin. Helen didn’t offer him pizza. The poodle abuser could starve.

No one mentioned Andrei during the party, but Helen thought the crew was relieved he stayed in his cabin. She wondered if Dick, the quiet second engineer, would be promoted to Andrei’s job.

While the boys ate, drank beer and cracked jokes, Mira rolled a pink suitcase out to the crew mess. The fat duffel sat on top of it. She was dressed for a colder climate in jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt and a pink hoodie. “New York, here I come,” she said.

“It’s chilly there in April,” Helen said. “Do you have the right clothes for your trip?”

“Nope, but I can buy them in Manhattan,” Mira said. “I can’t wait to leave.”

Helen couldn’t, either. By the time she and Mira had said their good-byes to the crew, the captain had returned.

A sullen Andrei dragged his dark backpack with the square bulge down the gangplank. Helen thought the fired engineer would have a harder time attracting gullible young women without his dashing dress uniform.

The three women rolled their suitcases down the gangplank. Mira ran to a dramatically handsome man of about thirty. His black clothes, thick dark hair and carefully calculated beard stubble screamed “actor.”

“Kevin!” Mira cried, her pink suitcase bumping over the marina’s blacktop, the duffel nearly falling off.

Suzanne drove off alone in a dented red Honda.

Helen and Andrei climbed into the captain’s black Chevy for a short, silent ride to Port Everglades. Helen cleared customs quickly, then shook the captain’s hand, but not Andrei’s. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Outside she spotted Phil’s black Jeep in the lot and ran to him. He was wearing her favorite soft blue shirt, the one that matched his eyes. His long silver hair was tied back in a ponytail.

Helen wrapped her arms around him. “Um, muscles!” she said, rubbing his back. She inhaled his scent of coffee and sandalwood and kissed him hard.

“I missed you,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

After more kisses she said, “We still have work to do on this case. You need to tip off the feds.”

Helen told him about Mira and the emeralds, then asked, “Who are you going to call? ICE?”

“The agency isn’t called Immigration and Customs Enforcement anymore,” Phil said. “They’ve changed their name to Homeland Security Investigations. I’ll call an HSI agent in Fort Lauderdale. He’ll know if the airport has an HSI special agent on duty. If not, TSA will do the takedown. We need to give him as many details as possible, including where Mira was coming from, how the emeralds were smuggled and a description of her luggage. They’ll love a chance to seize smuggled emeralds.”

“I can even give them the color of her suitcase,” Helen said. “I’m no jewelry expert, but I’d say the cut stones have a retail value of several million. We’d better hurry. Mira and her boyfriend are boarding a three o’clock flight for New York.”

The HSI agent was definitely interested in Phil’s information. Helen heard him reciting the details:

“That’s right. Her name is Mira—short for Vladimira—Fedorova, age twenty-nine, about five foot six, long blond hair, wearing jeans, a white shirt and a pink hoodie. Name sounds Russian, but she’s a U.S. citizen living in Fort Lauderdale. She has a pink rolling suitcase and may also have a large navy duffel. That one’s too big for carry-on. She’s traveling with a dark-haired thirty-something male, first name Kevin. They’re taking the three o’clock flight to LaGuardia. I don’t know if he’s involved. She’s a stewardess on a yacht. That’s how she’s been bringing in the jewels. The captain got suspicious and our agency had an operative aboard. She found the emeralds on a belt in a bag of old evening dresses.”

That’s me, Helen thought. I’m an operative. A successful operative.

Phil repeated the information several times, then hung up. “They’re going after her,” he said. “I hope your hunch is right.”

“It is,” Helen said, with more confidence than she felt. “We should call our favorite TV reporter, Valerie Cannata. We can promise her the story, if she agrees not to use the captain’s name or the ship’s name. Think she’ll go along with it?”

“Hell, yes,” Phil said. “But she can’t do the story unless she can get a camera crew to the airport on short notice. Let’s hope for a slow news day. Coronado Investigations will have to stay out of this story. But we’ll get plenty of publicity when we give her the scoop on the murder of a prominent Fort Lauderdale businessman.”

“You’re that close to a solution?” Helen asked.

“I am,” Phil said. “But I need you.”

Helen kissed him again. “And I need you,” she said. “Could your case wait until tomorrow morning?”

“I think it’s time for some undercover work,” Phil said. “Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER 33

Phil’s phone rang at nine thirty that night. Helen sat up in bed, flipped on the light and found the receiver.

“Helen! It’s Valerie.”

Helen hastily pulled the sheet up over her breasts, as if the investigative reporter could see her naked.

“I wanted to thank you and Phil for the amazing tip,” Valerie said. “The smuggling story runs at ten tonight.”

“The feds caught Mira?” Helen was still groggy.

“Did they ever,” Valerie said. “Carrying a suitcase jammed with emeralds. HSI says they have a street value of five million dollars. The feds always exaggerate, but I think she had at least three million in smuggled stones. We’re the only station with the story. Thank you, thank you, sweetie. Gotta run.”

“Phil, wake up!” Helen said, shaking her sleeping spouse. “Valerie called. The feds caught Mira. Her story runs at ten. We should call the captain so he can watch it.”

“You make the call and I’ll make a snack,” Phil said. “Scrambled eggs okay?”

“You’re going to wait on me?” Helen said. “What luxury.”

Phil gave her a long kiss. “Scrambled eggs aren’t my idea of luxury,” he said. “I’d buy you a yacht if I could.”

“Wouldn’t want it,” Helen said. “The Earl was gorgeous, but there was no privacy. I could hear the guests fighting—and their makeup sex afterward. I knew too much about them.”

Phil slipped on his white robe. A loud meow stopped his march to the kitchen. Thumbs planted himself in Phil’s path. The six-toed cat’s yellow-green eyes glowed in the low light.

“It’s also time for someone else’s dinner,” Helen said. “Come here, big boy, and say hello.”

“I already did,” Phil said. “Several times.”

“I meant the cat,” Helen said.

Thumbs turned his back on Helen and padded after Phil to the tiny kitchen.

“You still aren’t forgiven for abandoning him,” Phil said.

Captain Josiah Swingle wasn’t happy with Helen, either. “I thought we agreed to avoid publicity,” he said.

Helen felt ice forming on her phone. “We made a deal with Valerie,” she said. “If she kept you and the Earl out of this story, we promised her another scoop.”

“I’ll watch tonight to make sure she keeps her word,” Josiah said. “I don’t trust reporters. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning to settle my bill. Seven thirty?”

Helen looked at Phil’s deliciously rumpled sheets. She’d love to sleep in, but Phil had to work at Blossom’s tomorrow and Coronado Investigations couldn’t refuse a customer begging to pay.

“See you then,” she said.

Helen stumbled into the living room, still half asleep. Phil carried two plates heaped with fluffy scrambled eggs to the coffee table. His plate was buried under ketchup and hot sauce.

“White wine?” he asked.

“I must be in server heaven,” Helen said.

They sat side by side on Phil’s black leather couch. “It feels so good to sit here and enjoy my food,” Helen said, “without worrying that I’ll have to scrub heads and serve dinner at three a.m. Now, tell me what’s going on with Blossom and her boyfriend.”

“This will be show-and-tell,” Phil said. “I want to take you to the restaurant where she poisoned Surfer Dude.”

“Can’t wait to eat that food,” Helen said.

“We’ll eat somewhere else,” Phil said. “How about a midnight Mexican dinner?”

“But we’re eating now,” Helen said.

“This is a snack,” Phil said. “We missed lunch. We’ll leave right after we watch Valerie. It’s way up in Palm Beach County. You don’t want to miss the world’s best guacamole.”

Phil switched on channel seventy-seven. Donna, the blond late-night anchor, was as bland as baby food. “And now investigative reporter Valerie Cannata has the scoop on a Fort Lauderdale resident caught smuggling a fortune in jewels,” Donna said.

There was Valerie. Nothing bland about her. Valerie had the eerily youthful look of top TV pros. A red suit hugged her gym-enhanced curves, and crimson lipstick highlighted her full lips. Phil had kissed those lips, Helen thought, then reminded herself that their romance was over long before she knew her husband.

Valerie did her report with the Fort Lauderdale airport as her backdrop. Curious passengers stared as they rolled their suitcases behind the sophisticated reporter.

“Special agents for Homeland Security Investigations arrested a Fort Lauderdale woman, Mira Fedorova, as she boarded a flight for New York’s LaGuardia Airport this afternoon,” Valerie said. “Ms. Fedorova’s suitcase contained more than five million dollars in emeralds, officials said.”

The camera panned across the glittering hoard of jewels, photogenically displayed in the unzipped pink suitcase.

“Never saw a pink pirate’s chest before,” Helen said.

“Sh!” Phil said.

Mira’s mug shot flashed on the screen as Valerie continued: “Ms. Fedorova, a twenty-nine-year-old yacht stewardess, was charged with multiple counts of smuggling. She is being held without bail as a flight risk. Federal agents are still questioning her companion. We’ll have more updates on this breaking story.”

“Thank you, Valerie,” Donna the anchor said. “Remember, this story is on just one station—channel seventy-seven.”

“I knew we could trust Valerie,” Helen said. “But I still held my breath during her report.

“Josiah will be relieved his yacht wasn’t mentioned. Now, on to our other case. What do I wear to this restaurant?”

“Nothing fancy,” Phil said. “It’s a taco truck in a parking lot.”

“Very cool. Just like L.A.,” Helen said.

It was a fine night for a drive on I-95. Palm trees rustled in the light breeze. The air was soft and warm. Cars whizzed past, some weaving in and out of the traffic, others poking along in the slow lane.

“Now, where did I leave off telling you the adventures of Blossom?” Phil asked.

“In the last installment,” Helen said, “you were disguised as Bob the Cool Guy air-conditioner repairman. You followed Blossom to a Deerfield Beach bar and pretended to check the air-conditioning vents.”

“Hey, I wasn’t playing make-believe,” Phil said. “I risked my neck climbing a stepladder and heroically resisted a beer and burger while I listened to Blossom argue with Surfer Dude. His name is Zack.”

“Anything to this Zack besides his blond good looks?” Helen asked.

“Not that I could tell,” Phil said. “The man was greedy and stupid. I was around the corner from their booth, listening as hard as I could. I’d unscrewed the vent cover and heard Zack say, ‘I told you to get rid of it.’

“Blossom started arguing. ‘No. I might need it,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry. I have a good hiding place. It’s in plain sight.’

“‘What is this?’ Zack said. ‘Some freaking TV detective show? Why keep it?’

“‘Arthur’s daughter hates me,’ Blossom said. ‘She’s been to that lawyer, Nancie Hays. Hays is trouble.’

“‘So?’ Zack said. ‘You can afford good lawyers, too. If anything happens to Violet so soon after Daddy bit the dust, it will look suspicious.’

“Zack gulped his beer and ordered another,” Phil said. “He told her, ‘I don’t know why you offed the old guy, anyway. You could have slipped out any time to see me.’

“‘No, I couldn’t,’ she said. ‘He was around the house all the time. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. It was horrible. He’d go to his office sometimes, but I never knew when. The one time I went to see you, that housekeeper caught me. Couldn’t wait to tell me the next day.

“‘I wanted his money and I got it. Now the daughter’s after me. She’ll fight me every step of the way unless I do something. That’s why I kept it. They didn’t find it in him and they won’t find it in her. Most medical examiners don’t know to look for it and he didn’t have an autopsy. She won’t, either. Her death will look like a heart attack. Runs in the family.’

“Then she laughed,” Phil said.

“She wants to kill Violet, too,” Helen said. “That gives me chills.”

“It made Zack hot under the collar,” Phil said. “His voice got low and threatening. ‘Don’t do it, Blossom,’ he said. ‘Be patient a little longer. Once his estate makes it through probate, we can get married.’”

“What did Blossom say to that?” Helen asked.

“Nothing,” Phil said. “The silence was so loud even a lunkhead like Zack realized she didn’t want to tie the knot. He was so upset he abandoned his beer and started whining. ‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘I thought you wanted to marry me.’

“Blossom got real cagey. ‘I’m not sure I want to tie myself down again so soon, Zack.’

“He got mad. He gripped his beer bottle so hard I thought it would crack. ‘It’s that new handyman, isn’t it?’ he said.”

“Zack was jealous,” Helen said.

“Of me,” Phil said, and grinned. “I realize I’m serious competition—”

“Can we go back to the story?” Helen asked. “They were arguing and Zack was jealous.”

“Right. Blossom said, ‘Keep your voice down. He’s not a handyman. He’s an estate manager.’

“Zack started whining again. ‘It’s not fair,’ he said. ‘I do the dirty work—’

“‘Dirty work?’ Blossom said. ‘You picked two off the ground.’

“‘That’s two more than you picked up,’ Zack said. ‘You thought that was a mango tree. I’m the one who found out why you couldn’t eat those mangoes. I bothered to talk to the girl at the hotel.’

“‘You must have been talking in braille,’ Blossom said, ‘the way you had your hands all over her.’

“‘Well, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have had them,’ Zack said. ‘I gave you a wedding present—the way to end your marriage. A secret way. Of course it doesn’t have to stay a secret. I could tell the police what really killed Arthur.’

“‘You’d go to prison, too,’ she said.

“‘Not if I cut a deal,’ he said. ‘I didn’t make that curry. I just gave you some pretty seeds. I had no idea they were poison. There’s no proof I had anything to do with Arthur’s death. No one ever saw me at his house, not even that nosy housekeeper. Don’t forget, Arthur wasn’t cremated. They can still dig him up and find it.’

“‘I couldn’t cremate him,’ Blossom said. ‘He had a prepaid burial plan.’

“That’s when Blossom seemed to realize her hunk had his own plan. She hugged him and kissed his cheek. ‘Zack, honey, I’m grateful,’ she said, ‘but I’m not ready to get married so soon after Arthur. It wouldn’t look right. What if I gave you a gift instead?’

“‘How big a gift?’ Zack asked. Suddenly he was sober.

“‘Two million dollars,’ she said.

“‘Pocket change,’ Zack said. ‘I’m not interested in a going-away present. If I marry you, I’m entitled to five million. Actually, I’m entitled to more. But I’m not greedy. Marry me and we’ll have a nice arrangement. You’ll go your way and I’ll go mine. We’ll both have enough to do whatever we want.’

“‘I’ll think about it,’ Blossom said. Her voice could have frosted beer mugs, but Zack didn’t notice.”

Phil turned off the highway in Lake Worth, a town near Palm Beach. Soon they were in a neighborhood of Latino working people.

“Then what happened?” Helen asked.

“The bar owner came by and asked me—or rather Cool Bob—if I’d look at the filters in the main unit. I looked, but it could have been run by gerbils for all I knew. I said I had new filters in the truck, ducked out the door, jumped in the truck and didn’t look back.”

“That’s it?” Helen didn’t hide her disappointment. “You never learned the name of the poison?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “Later. I Googled ‘poison,’ ‘mango’ and ‘Maldives’—that’s the islands where she married Arthur. That’s how I found out about the suicide tree, Cerbera odollam. Grows in India and southern Asia. Has pretty white flowers and fruit like small mangoes. The seeds are highly poisonous. Blossom could easily mix them in spicy food—like curry—and the old man would never know what he ate. It’s a common poison in southern Asia, but not well-known here.”

“Blossom got away with murder,” Helen said.

“Not yet,” Phil said.

The Jeep cruised down Military Trail, a wide street dotted with car repair shops, pawnshops and Latino supermarkets. Tucked between them were small cinder block restaurants, painted bright turquoise, yellow or red.

“See that Mexican restaurant there?” Phil said.

“The one with the big Closed sign?” Helen asked.

“That’s where Blossom killed her boyfriend,” Phil said. “Right now the docs think Zack died of food poisoning after a Mexican dinner. I know Blossom poisoned him. I saw her. I just didn’t realize it. The restaurant was unfairly shut down. I’ll give you the details over dinner. You’re going to help me prove she’s a killer.”

“Do I get dessert?” Helen asked.

CHAPTER 34

Tacos al Carbon looked like a late-night fiesta. A square of asphalt behind the Jiffy Lube on Military Trail was strung with lights and packed with people. Young women in vivid clothes looked like they were finishing—or starting—a night at the clubs. They chatted and flirted with young dark-haired men. Older men and women in uniforms and scrubs had the weary look of workers heading home. Some placed orders in rapid Spanish. Others spoke slow “gringo Spanish” or English.