Jennifer Rardin [Jaz Parks series book 2] Another One Bites The Dust

toss him overboard. She shoved a box in his hands and picked up the cooler. “If you would be so kind,” she said.

 He swished toward the doors, followed by my crew, with me lagging behind. Vayl cleared his throat. I glanced over my shoulder. He made three short gestures that clearly meantGet in. Get out. Don’t screw up . I made a gesture of my own that was also quite clear. Unfortunately he took me literally and I think I left him in a state of rising excitement.

 The twit led us through the doors into the crew’s mess. Beyond the tables a stainless-steel counter separated the dining area from thegalley. “What a lovely kitchen,” I said as the twit scowled at me and Cassandra hid a smile. I opened the fridge, checked out the cabinets. “Very . . . organized.”

 The twit set his box down on the counter. “Chien-Lung is quite particular about cleanliness,” he told me sternly. “Please see that you straighten up after yourselves before you leave.”

 “Why certainly. We are here but to serve.” I gave him a bow with just enough angle on it to let him know if he ever hit the Midwest, nine of ten farmers would agree he had a cob up his ass. He sniffed and tossed his head, perhaps wishing he had long curls that would allow him to emphasize the huffy. He left through a large arched doorway at the other end of the galley. Having studied the plans of this particular vessel before we left, I knew he was taking a twisting ramp up to the main deck.

 Together we unloaded the goodies. Vamps may not require delicious layouts of shrimp cocktail, bite-sized crackers topped with funky green veggies, and gallons of margaritas to survive, but they sure do relish them. (Hah! Pun intended!) By the time we finished, the galley resembled a behind-the-scenes Food Network show. I half expected an abnormally thin TV chef to step out of the broom closet and start breaking down the recipe for the mini kebobs.

 “I’m starving,” Cole said, his hands full of small square brownies. “And since there’s no room on the tray for these . . .” He popped them all into his mouth.

 “Cole!” Cassandra smacked him on the shoulder.

 “Wha—?” When he opened his mouth all you could see was half-chewed goo.

 “How oldare you?” I demanded. I threw a shrimp at him and it got stuck in his tangle of wig hair. Bergman fished it out, wiped it off, and put it back on the serving dish.

 “Now,that is disgusting,” said Cassandra.

 “Children!” Vayl’s voice boomed in our ears, loud and sudden enough to make us all jump guiltily. “I trust you are performing actual work right now.”

 “Chill out, Vayl,” I replied. “Bergman is just conducting an experiment to see how vampires respond to ingesting brown hair dye.”

 “That makes me curious, Vayl,” said Cole in a sticky, goodie-between-the-gums voice that reminded me of Winnie the Pooh after a major honey binge. “Have you ever colored your hair? You know blonds have more fun.”

 “Not when they are in the hospital.”

 Cole suddenly struck a pose that bore a remarkable resemblance to the twit. “What a meanie bo-beanie. God.”

 We all spent the next three minutes swallowing huge peals of laughter, and when one did escape, disguising it as a cough. Before we were done our eyes were streaming and we were hacking like a bunch of cigarette hounds. Some people play video games when they stress. Some people kick their dogs, beat their spouses, have heart attacks. I laugh. Usually at exactly the wrong moment. Apparently my crew had caught the bug. But it worked. It was, in fact, just what we needed to help us relax into our assigned roles.

 Having consulted Yetta’s map and figured out where to situate all the goodies, we grabbed the boxes marked “table coverings,” threw the booze, a few trays, and the tableware on a cart, and hoofed it upstairs.

 We emerged in a huge open space divided into a formal dining room at the back, an entertainment area complete with baby grand in the front quarter, and a conversation corner in which someone had arranged two overstuffed couches and six chairs around a fake fireplace. The decor combined gleaming maple with rich blues and just a touch of ivory. Uh-huh, fancy.

 We headed toward a set of open glass doors that led to the main deck. Cole stopped at the serve-yourself bar just outside the doors to stock up and attach a couple of cameras. A built-in awning provided protection from the weather, but it stood at least ten feet above the deck, so no cameras there. Gold silk had been wound around the railing, which meant anything we attached there could be covered by the blowing material, discovered by whoever cleaned up in the morning, or butt rubbed right into the bay. Everything else was portable. Straight-backed chairs lined up to starboard, waiting-room style. To port, two bare and embarrassed-looking buffet tables waited for our touch.

 “Time to explore,” I murmured. Cassandra nodded, and while she and Bergman began wind proofing the tablecloths I went back to the galley. Grabbing a tray full of dime-sized sandwiches, I headed through the arch once again. But instead of taking the ramp, I went down the adjoining hall. Passing several closed doors that led to crew quarters, I walked to the very end, where metal steps led me up two levels to the pilothouse.

 What a sight. Recessed lighting combined with maple cabinetry and state-of-the-art navigational equipment to make the place resemble a cruise ship. At the very least I expected to find some bored young sailor babysitting a bank of inactive dials while the captain spent his evening on land. But the room practically echoed.

 “Huh.” We’d seen no staff while we were in the galley and I’d encountered nobody while I was on their turf. Had Lung sent them all ashore?

 Well, hey, if the wind was blowing my way, I sure wasn’t going to turn my head and spit. I planted a camera and took a different set of stairs to the guest level, where a long hall carpeted in blue Berber offered up all kinds of options in shiny arched doors with glowing gold latches. After knocking lightly on the first one to my right, I inched it open and looked inside. Empty. I left a camera near the porthole and moved across the hall. I’d just opened the door when Vayl said urgently, “Jaz, someone is coming.”

 Crap!I slipped into the room, closed the door behind me, and scoped the place out. Bed against the wall wearing black sheets and matching pillows, topped by a red velvet throw. Black bedside table with built-in lamp. Mirrored closet to the left. I checked inside. Definitely no room for me unless I found another place for the shiny silk suits and neat lines of shoes. Look at all those loafers! The guy was definitely gay.