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.
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 souffle 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—”
“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.
