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
“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
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
