Cashed In Part 12

"He's not my boyfriend. I don't even know his name," I realized aloud. "He just caught me as I ran out and let me borrow a shirt."

"How do you know he's not one of your bad guys?" Gretchen asked.

"They were chasing me. He was in front of me."

All four women shared a raised eyebrow, then led the way back to the spa. I scanned the labyrinth hallway for the blindfold with half my head of hair with it, but it was empty. I started to get an icky feeling in the pit of my stomach. As we opened the door, I could see the place was a mess-and there was no proof I just hadn't made it all myself.

"It's okay, the video camera will show what happened," Gretchen said.

They looked up and saw the lens covered in what I was still wearing. Four sets of eyes slowly looked back at me. Hans peeked in the door and reported the spa was empty except for one woman undergoing cellulite reduction therapy in another room who hadn't seen anyone but Moira. No evidence of any intruders. He threw me a sympathetic look.

"No towel blindfold and duct tape with auburn hair in it, by chance?" I asked.

Hans shook his head. "Have you checked your purse? Were you robbed?"

I reached under the table and opened the magnetic clasp on my Michael Kors. Travelers checks, check. Pa.s.sport, check. Cabin key, check. Note? I riffled through cosmetics. No note. "Something's gone."

"Your money?" Hans stepped forward. "Your room key?"

"No, those and my identification are all there. A note is missing."

"What kind of note?"

"A threatening note I just got at lunch."

Hans frowned. "What did it say?"

"It warned me not to play detective or I'd be gone too."

Hans rubbed his forehead. "That's the only thing missing?"

I nodded.

"Maybe the situations with Mr. Santobella and Mr. Jones have made you a bit overwrought. You were up all night, after all. I suggest you head back to your cabin and get a little rest. I'll look into the note and intruders once you can give me a description."

"I didn't see them."

"Were they men or women?"

"Either."

There was much eye rolling. Hans sighed heavily. They obviously all thought I was a fruit loop. Great. The spa staff began to disperse.

It was hopeless to try to make them believe me. I began to gather my clothes.

"We won't be charging you for the damage, Miss Cooley, since you are a poker star." Gretchen said, obviously reluctantly. "Also, we are willing to begin your spa treatment over again . . ."

"Oh, that's not necessary," I said as I slipped my shoes on.

Moira, who'd begun to clean up, reached around the back of the potted vine and picked up something, holding it out to me. "You must have dropped this."

In her hand was a rainbow-jeweled phone case. Hmm. Maybe the bad guys weren't all guys after all.

There was no record of Kinkaid ever taking a spa treatment, although the receptionist admitted that cruise officials didn't have to make appointments and often made private arrangements with staff for a quickie spa visit. None of those on duty at the time admitted to working on Kinkaid, but I supposed if she and Valka were in on some conspiracy she wouldn't admit it.

I was beginning to feel as ridiculous as the spa staff wanted me to feel as I tucked the phone case into the zippered compartment of my purse and took my now semi-sticky self out on the deck. I had rinsed my face clean, drew my hair back in a ponytail to hide the hunks missing and picked most of the wads of seaweed off, hoping Marlboro Man's shirt would look like a swimsuit cover-up, making it appear I had spent the afternoon in the pool instead of getting kelped and almost killed.

Marlboro Man had never reappeared. I wished I'd thought to ask his name. Still, I had to remind myself that, after the note, I couldn't trust anyone on board except for the three members of my family. As kind as he'd been and as much as my instincts told me he was safe, the Marlboro Man did have incredible timing today-he'd been walking by the table just as I read the note, and later, just as I fled my attackers.

I thought about the people who had known I was going to the spa-Ingrid, Kinkaid . . .

"I thought you said you were busy all afternoon?"

And, of course, Ian.

I turned as he reached me, giving me an intense once-over, pausing longest at the shirt. "Busy with some afternoon delight, I suppose, when all this time I thought you were getting a ma.s.sage at the spa."

Although I was flattered that he was jealous, he certainly had no right to be and that irritated me. "I was-a sea kelp wrap and Dead Sea mud facial."

"I thought you were supposed to look refreshed and relaxed after a trip to the spa. You look like you've been put through the wringer." He squinted at my legs. "And I think they forgot to get some of the kelp off your right calf . . ."

"My visit got cut short."

"Which is why you are wearing another man's shirt?"

"How do you know this belongs to a man? I could have an affinity for Ralph Lauren b.u.t.ton-downs."

"Ten sizes too big? I'm a psychologist, remember, Belinda," Ian said. "Plus, I've seen your sense of style and it isn't masculine in the least."

"Don't think you've got me all figured out, Ian Reno, because I will prove you wrong," I said, crossing my arms over my chest and eschewing the elevator for the stairs. Halfway up I realized it was a bad idea since I had absolutely no underwear on and the shirt was indeed that much too big. The Marlboro Man had shoulders to rival Arnold Schwarzenegger. Too bad Ringo hadn't saved me. His shirt would've fit me.

I think Ian was enjoying the view from about fifteen stairs behind me because he wasn't rushing. I put the Michael Kors at my rump. I was almost at the next deck when I saw a familiar pair of blue jean-clad legs saunter by. Marlboro Man! I turned on the gas.

"Hey, Belinda, slow down," Ian called behind me.

Marlboro Man, wearing a new blue b.u.t.ton-down, had disappeared around the corner of a billboard advertising the Hold 'Em tournament. He tapped my photo with an index finger as he went by. I b.u.mped into a woman who gave me a queer look (who could blame her) before jumping out of my way. I rounded the billboard and saw Marlboro Man making his way through the double gla.s.s doors leading to the outside deck. I opened my mouth to call out, but stopped myself. What could I say? Hey, dude? Yo, cowboy?

Ian caught up with me and saw me watching Marlboro Man, who'd stopped on deck next to the railing to talk to a man in a white and gold cruise ship uniform. "That's him, isn't it? My compet.i.tion."

"That's him," I muttered distractedly. Both mens' backs were to me, but their posture denoted an intensity in their conversation, although neither man gestured or moved much at all.

"You were chasing him so hard, why didn't you call to him to wait for you?"

I looked at Ian, still trying to figure out why the cruise employee Marlboro Man was talking to seemed so familiar. "Because I don't know his name," I answered distractedly.

Fifteen.

By the time I worked up the nerve to go interrupt Marlboro Man's conversation, he and the ship employee had moved off in separate directions. As much as I wanted to know MM's name, I was curious about the employee too. If I caught up with him, I could always ask the name of the big cowboy who he'd just been talking to. There was something about the way the employee strode with purpose that said power, in a way that seemed at odds for a person who wore his name on his lapel. But before I could get within ten feet of him, he ducked into an employees-only door that clicked shut.

"d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n." I muttered.

"What is going on, Belinda?" Ian demanded.

I looked at him in surprise. I'd forgotten I had a shadow.

I sniffed. Something smelled suspiciously like a familiar soap. I thought Ian wore Obsession. I sniffed again. "Do you wash with Dove?"

Ian c.o.c.ked his head at me, drawing his eyebrows together. "No. What does that have to do with anything? What is going on?"

"I wish I knew." I shook my head. I must be going crazy, missing Frank so much I thought I smelled his soap. Silly.

"Do you think your boyfriend's gay?" Ian asked, putting an understanding hand on my arm. "There was obviously something between those two out there. Is that what this is about, your hurt pride?"

"Noooo." I paused for a breath of patience. "First off, that's not my boyfriend. Obviously, since I told you I don't even know his name."

"That's just the story you told me."

"That also happens to be the true story. I want to talk to him because I suspect he went looking for the guys who attacked me in the spa, and I want to know what he found out."

Ian gasped, grabbing my shoulders, looking into my eyes as if they would tell him more than my mouth would. "You were attacked? Are you okay?"

I nodded. "I'm just p.i.s.sed off and slightly embarra.s.sed." I paused to flash a fake smile at a couple who were eyeballing me in disdain. They hurried away.

I'd expected Ian to jump on the overwrought band-wagon but he didn't. "What do you think is going on?"

I shrugged. "Someone has it out for me. I got a threatening note under my dessert plate at lunch. After you ditched me."

"You ditched me, remember?"

I couldn't really argue since I'd been off talking to Sam at that point, and I didn't want to tell Ian about it, so I shrugged and tried to look apologetic.

"How do you know it's not this mystery man who left you the note?" Ian asked, crossing his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised.

"I don't. I don't at all."

After a shower in which I had to employ the entire contents of three shower gel containers to rid myself of the kelp residue, I dressed in my new Live in CYN bikini and looked in the mirror. Ack! For the first time on the cruise I was glad Frank wasn't there. I peered closer at my reflection. I think the kelp had accentuated my cellulite instead of ridding me of it. Maybe it was some kind of time-release thing.

d.a.m.ned attackers. I was mad enough to kill them. Painfully.

I considered changing to my Venus one piece but decided that only a wetsuit would fix the problem, so I donned a cover-up and sat down at the phone. During my endless shower, I'd decided I had to get to know a little more about my fashionista roommate as well as Valka. As both were blond, either one of them could be the woman who lured Rick into the closet. I needed a better description from the source.

I dialed the Santobellas' room and Delia answered. Her voice stiffened when I identified myself. I asked after Rick's health. "He's resting," she said. "And still has amnesia, so can't confess yet to what you two did."

"Can I talk to him for just a second?" Couldn't hurt to try.

"No!" she shouted. "How stupid do you think I am?"

After that, the conversation deteriorated into a flow of invectives in Spanish. I said good-bye while she was sucking in a breath and hung up.

Okay, that went well. Apparently I'd have to move on without Rick's help. I needed to hide my purse with its important piece of evidence before I left. Hmm. I gauged the s.p.a.ces that would fit my Michael Kors. Big bags were in and were fantastic to look at, but they were h.e.l.l to hide. Finally, I took one of my pillows out of its pillow case, got a hand towel and wrapped my purse in it, stuffed the wrapped purse in the case, sat it next to its mate and plumped it to look as even as possible. Now what to do with the pillow? It refused to fit in any un.o.btrusive s.p.a.ce. After fifteen minutes I gave up and did what everyone else on board apparently did with unwanted items-I let myself onto the balcony and threw it overboard, thinking some sea anemone would sleep better tonight.

Feeling slightly guilty, I left the room and walked down the hall toward the elevator, feeling a presence behind me all the way. As I reached the elevators, I turned around and looked. Security after me for pillow ditching? Someone disappeared into a room down the hall near mine. One white pant leg and a cruise uniform shoe was all I saw. I guess I was in the clear. I breathed deeply and tried to relax.

Dove soap again. Warm and musky overtones. Frank.

I peeked down the empty hall again and swore under my breath. My imagination was obviously working overtime.

The elevator appeared and I rode it to the Flop Deck where the adults-only Vegas pool was located. I hadn't seen it, but according to the cruise literature, poker was being dealt from cash tables in the pool itself. If I knew my twin at all, I'd bet he was going all in on the coolest version of Texas Hold 'Em yet-cards, cash, alcohol and mostly naked, all wet women. As I turned the corner I could see I won that pot. Ben sat in the water from the waist down, playing footsies with a beautiful j.a.panese girl in a string bikini sitting across from him while to his right Stella jockeyed for attention and to his left a woman my mother's age rubbed her thigh against his. These were the world's smallest poker tables, forcing people to touch each other as they floated and played.

I think Hugh Hefner had designed this venue.

"Not your thing, I guess," Callie commented from the pool steps, sliding a hank of her silver blond hair behind her ear. I could see she was trying not to watch but was unable to resist. The whole scene did sort of invite one to be a voyeur. Waitresses in bikinis made of playing cards swam around the lagoon-style pool with floating trays full of fruit and umbrella-garnished frozen drinks. Waterfalls crashed. Bodies undulated. Voices whooped with wins and moaned with losses. At least I think that was a loss Ben was moaning about.

"It's that obvious?" I asked, trying not to grimace.

She grinned and nodded.

"Did I gag out loud?" I asked.

Grinning wider, she shook her head.

I shrugged. "Different strokes, I suppose." Hearing myself, I made a face at my poor and unintentional joke.

"You got that right."

For the first time, I noticed Paul Pennington wearing some wildly colored toucan swim trunks at an adjacent table pushing all his chips forward on a three of spades, seven of clubs, nine of hearts flop. I cringed, hoping the poor boy had pocket Aces and knew his table. He took a swig of his pina colada and pulled hard on his straw when a King of diamonds fell on Fourth Street. Uh-oh. With four others matching his bet, he was in trouble here. The River was a six of hearts which gave one guy a straight and another woman trips. Paul threw his pocket deuces at the dealer so hard she fended them off with her hands. Then he dove to the bottom of the pool and stayed there. I looked at his chips they were stacking and calculated near three thousand dollars.

A lot to wager in a silly poolside game.

The kid was seriously sick.

But soon I started worrying more about the fact that he might drown himself over it.

I turned to Callie. "I wonder if the cruise planners antic.i.p.ated people getting suicidal amidst the combination of gambling, alcohol and water eight feet deep. Do you see a lifeguard?"

She looked around and shook her head. No one at the table seemed concerned as they bet the next hand. I waited, glancing at the bottom of the pool where Paul lay like a flounder. Finally, my patience broke. Flinging my cover-up to a deck chair, I dove to the bottom, grabbed Paul by the back of his swim trunks and lugged him to the surface.

He spewed out water for a moment as a handful of people in the pool looked over at us curiously, including Ben.

"That's one way to pick up men, Bee Bee!" He shouted, then leaned in to the older woman next to him and said proudly, blithely unaware I was trying to save a life, "That's my sister. Obviously takes after me."

Paul looked at me sullenly. "I wasn't finished yet."