of a toolshed with neatly stowed boat gear.
They backed down the ladder. Now the narrow passageway made a slight jog. The port side was lined with white plastic caddies and cleaning equipment. “You’ll have your own caddy. Here’s where we go through the looking glass.”
Mira opened a door to a hallway with thick beige carpet. Helen saw the other side of the door was a gold- framed mirror. “That way the guests don’t see us,” she said.
The four staterooms named for Bahamian islands—Andros, Paradise, Bimini and San Salvador—were almost as luxurious as the master suite. Mira opened a louvered door in the Bimini stateroom and said, “You’ll help unpack the guests’ luggage and put away their things.”
Helen saw enough towels in the guest baths to stock a linen store. “Do we clean these baths after every use?”
“Same routine. If the guests take a shower, we wipe down the stall, clean the bathroom, change the towels and soap. We hate people who shower more than once a day. We also restock the soda and bottled water in the guests’ fridges, labels facing out.
“The beds are turned down at night and we put on the sleeping duvet,” Mira said. “The sheets are changed every two days.”
“Good,” Helen said. “That will save a little work.”
“Not much. We iron the sheets on the bed so they look fresh. We dust the hangers and make sure they all the face the same way.”
Helen raised an eyebrow. “Dust the hangers?”
Mira shrugged. “The owners want it.”
Helen said nothing. She couldn’t. She’d not only walked through the looking glass—she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.
“You’ll see the rest tomorrow night when you start work. Wear your dress uniform. Remember, no flirting, no nail polish and no makeup.”
“Not even pink lipstick?”
“Nothing.”
Helen realized Mira’s face was makeup free. She didn’t need it with her clear skin.
“And no jewelry,” she said.
“What about your silver barrette?” Helen asked.
“That’s allowed. It keeps my hair out of my eyes, and when I serve dinner, I put my hair up in a twist.”
“Mine slips out of a barrette,” Helen said.
Mira unclipped her distinctive barrette with the slashes of smooth and frosted silver. “Try this one,” she said. “It’s a Ficcare. About forty bucks online at Head Games.”
Helen whistled.
“You’ll save the money on makeup,” Mira said. “You’re not to compete with the women on the yacht. It can cause problems with the guests. This is the serious part, so listen carefully.”
Mira locked eyes with Helen. “The guests are always right. That’s why you’re getting nearly forty thousand dollars a year for an unskilled job. You cannot make a scene. If one of the men gets handsy, let me know. Some of the women can turn nasty.”
“How nasty?” Helen asked.
“These are the wives and girlfriends of rich men. The men give these women everything—except freedom. They feel angry and helpless. The only power they have is to lash out at the stewardess. They may insult you or scream at you.”
“What do I do?” Helen asked.
“Nothing. These women live in pain and pass it on. You’re paid to take it.”
CHAPTER 14
Helen burst through the door of Coronado Investigations and found Phil frowning at his computer screen, barricaded behind a stack of foam coffee cups. His gray metal desk was awash with printouts. All signs her partner was working. But Helen was facing a week of hard labor. She felt trapped and resentful.
Phil smiled when he saw her. “How is the job with the ocean view?” he asked.
“Some view,” Helen said. “The only water I’ll see is in a toilet bowl. I’m working twenty hours a day washing clothes, scrubbing, vacuuming carpets. I have to stay in the tracks. You can wipe that smirk off your face, Phil Sagemont. Unless you want to sleep alone on our last night together.”
She paced their office in tight, angry circles.
“Come here,” he said, softly. “Sit down and talk to me.”
“I can’t sit,” Helen said. “I’d rather keep moving.”
“I’d rather hold you.” Phil caught her as she passed him, and pulled her onto his lap. She struggled briefly, then stayed there, enjoying the comfort of his strong arms. She inhaled his soothing scent of coffee and sandalwood and sighed.
“Tell me what you’ll be doing on the yacht,” Phil said, “and why you’re vacuuming in the tracks, whatever those are.”
Helen explained, detailing her duties. “Talk about pointless work. If these people were any cleaner, they’d live in plastic bubbles. How can I find a smuggler when I’m a seagoing Cinderella?”
“A well-paid Cinderella,” he said, kissing her eyelids. “I’ll be your prince.” He kissed her nose next.
Helen pushed him away. “I didn’t tell you the best part. I’m supposed to be a verbal punching bag for bimbos. I won’t take it.”
“Easy there,” Phil said. He held her tighter and rocked her slowly, kissing her neck. “It’s only for a week. When you work undercover, you’ll hear lots of things you won’t like. As long as you’re not doing anything illegal, you put up with it for the job.”
Helen’s dying anger flared up again. “You want me to be a spineless wuss?”
“No,” Phil said. “I want you to be a detective and get that smuggler. There’s nothing spineless about it. While you’ve started tracking down the smuggler, I’ve been working on Arthur Zerling’s case.”
“When did you get away from his funeral reception?” Helen asked.
“The last guest left at two o’clock. I supervised the cleanup and Blossom let me leave early, about three thirty.”
Helen realized Phil was wearing his soft blue shirt and jeans. “Where’s your Cabana Boy uniform?”
“I left it at the Zerling house.”
“Really? Did she supervise the removal?” Helen raised one eyebrow.
Phil laughed. “You’re jealous. I like that.” He kissed her again, a lingering kiss this time. “I changed in the pool house. Blossom gave me six uniforms. She offered to have the staff do my laundry, but I said I could do my own wash.”
“Anything else she offered?” Helen was still suspicious.
“No,” Phil said. “She wanted to nap. She was exhausted.”
“From what? Ordering around the staff?” Helen asked.
“Grief is exhausting,” Phil said. “So is maintaining a facade. As soon as I got to our office, I did a background check. I hit pay dirt. And I do mean dirt. Blossom is no fragile flower.”
“Was this a legal or illegal search?” Helen asked.
“Strictly legal,” Phil said.
“Like those ‘Find anyone, anytime for $29.99’ offers that pop up when I’m trolling the Net?”
“Those are a good way to throw away thirty bucks,” Phil said. “Their information is hopelessly outdated. One
