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.
