Cashed In Part 13

"With what?" I asked. "Your daily underwater meditations?"

"Drowning myself," he said.

Uh-huh. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Why do most people want to off themselves?" Paul slapped the water with his palm. "Because my life bites."

"Mine does too sometimes, but I don't want to die."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Hey, aren't you that chick who won that big tournament in Vegas?"

"There are lots of tournaments in Vegas. I won one once."

Paul snorted. "Yeah, no wonder you don't want to die. You just won a quarter million dollars."

I wasn't going to correct him because now he was eyeballing me like the fatted calf. Remind me not to give him access to my checking account when walking with him near the ship's railing. "Money isn't everything," I said, quickly adding, "Besides, there wasn't much left after the IRS got through with it."

"They take a big chunk?"

"Gambling tax is twenty-five percent."

"s.h.i.t, then maybe I should do the other job instead of trying to win back the money I owe," Paul said under his breath.

"You got a job offer?" I said brightly, as if he meant me to hear what he'd said. "Congratulations."

Paul looked up, apparently surprised that he'd spoken aloud. "Yeah, some guy I know is doing a special research project and he needs an a.s.sistant. I'm not too sure I can do what he wants done, but it pays well."

"Go for it," I advised.

He bobbed his head. "Later," he said, shoving his way past Callie, making for the steps. He turned around. "Listen, my name is Paul Pennington if you want to hang out sometime."

Sure, meet you at the back of the boat with my debit card and a flotation device. I smiled and waved and decided to swim a lap.

"What a jerk. He didn't even thank you for saving his life, did he?" Callie asked, swimming up behind me.

"I didn't expect him to." I settled on a ledge next to the waterfall and Callie joined me.

"You're nice. I can see why Ingrid wants to hang out with you."

Yeah, right. "Why does Ingrid want to hang out with an old woman like me?"

"No, you're really cool for being old." She paused, blushing. "I mean, you're cool like Mich.e.l.le Pfeiffer or Nicole Kidman. I want to be like them and like you when I get o-to be your age."

"Thanks." I muttered. "So Ingrid just hopes my Kidman-Pfeifferness rubs off on her so she can emulate it decades from now?"

Callie shrugged. "I don't know, really. She gets obsessive compulsive. I guess she decided to obsess on you."

"So you're good friends?"

"She's my friend but I haven't known her that long. She transferred to our school midsemester."

"From where?"

"Some school I'd never heard of. She has a Washington D.C. driver's license. Her parents live in Southern California. That's where she's from."

"How do y'all know Ben?"

"Oh, Stella and I didn't, not until yesterday. Ingrid and Ben knew each other before. Ingrid invited us to come with her on the cruise because Ben was going on it."

I watched Ben rubbing Stella's back. Where did Ingrid fit in? "Ben and Ingrid are lovers then?"

"Oh no." Callie shook her head decisively. "They're just friends. Stella made sure before she went for him. Ingrid was really clear about it too that she and Ben are just pals. Ben's not her type." Something wasn't right here. Ben was such an irresistible bad boy, he's everyone's type, at least once. Besides which, Ben didn't have women friends. He had girlfriends and lovers and ex-lovers and would-be lovers but no one with estrogen was ever his "friend."

"Hmm. What's Ingrid's major?"

"Psychology."

Before I could think too hard about that, Ben hollered, obviously friendlier with the tequila bottle than he had been earlier. "Bee Bee, come float some cards my way. We're on the water, in the water, playing poker." He thought that was hilarious as did the rest of his table. Even the dealer smiled.

"I think I need to leave before my embarra.s.sment quotient rises any higher."

"He's so cute," Callie murmured, watching Ben undulate the muscles under the giraffe tattoo under his belly b.u.t.ton for Stella.

"Unless you're related to him." I threw over my shoulder as I eased my way past Ben's table to the pool steps.

"Come on," Ben called. "This dealer is a pocket princess and queen of the fancy flop. You can't lose, Bee Bee. Live a little."

I did want to talk to Stella about Ingrid. I surveyed the table and gauged that everyone sitting at it was sufficiently inhibited by alcohol. I could outplay them as long as I caught a few good cards.

When the man sitting next to Stella got up and said, "I'm outta here," the deal was sealed.

All I had to do was let the dealer swipe my room key to get chips. Way too easy for kids like Paul, I thought. The table was plastic made to look like wood, with a green surface that was Astroturf. Weird. I sat down on the stool that was concreted into the pool bottom and tried hard to keep my leg from floating into the knee of the man sitting to my left, who was definitely taking up more than his share of the pool. I tried to scoot my cemented stool and nearly fell off. This was uncomfortable.

"Where's Ingrid?" I asked Stella.

"You don't know where your fashionista is?" Ben asked, falsely aghast.

"I haven't seen her since noon."

Ben raised his eyebrows. "You mean you have no one to blame but yourself for that bikini?"

"Very funny."

Everyone at the table thought so. I was beginning to think this was a bad idea. The dealer pitched us our pocket cards. I slid the Gargoyles down over my eyes and peeked. Pair of tens-spade and club.

Not great, not bad, depending on The Flop. I was in late position, which was a terrific place to start. I waited until the table got around to me. Everyone had stayed in, calling the big blind. I guessed most were going to play every hand no matter what they had.

I decided to raise. It was a $5/$10 game so it wouldn't cost me much to shake them up a bit. The raise definitely threw them. All except Ben took another look at their pocket cards. A bunch of fish. Ben grinned at me.

Everyone called my raise, just like a bunch of limit Internet players. The Flop was five of spades, three of spades, Jack of hearts. I was probably already beaten by someone with a higher pair or someone who'd stayed in with a Jack or someone one short of a spade flush. That was the problem with playing with people who didn't know what they were doing-someone usually got lucky. I'm sure that's what my opponents in the Lanai tournament were still saying about me. The problem was, you couldn't get lucky every time, but you could be beaten by someone else every time. I could probably outlast enough of them to win money, but I wasn't sure I had the patience to sit at this table that long. Besides my fingers were already getting pruny. Once I talked to Stella, I was out of there.

Sure enough, I called my way through the rest of the hand and got beat. The Turn was an Ace of diamonds, which normally would have sent me folding. A Queen spade fell on Fifth Street, giving Stella trips, but Ben held the spade flush I had feared.

As Ben swept the chips his way, chortling happily, I leaned over to Stella. "Too bad. You might have had it."

She giggled. "You think?"

I nodded. "Trips are a good hand."

She paused in midsuck on her straw. "We're on a trip, right?"

Okay, bartender, cut her off. "Yes, indeed we are. On a major trip."

"Cool."

"So, where did Ingrid run off to this afternoon?" I asked Stella as the dealer threw us our pocket cards on the next hand.

Shrugging, Stella took another slurp of her banana daiquiri. "She said something about chains . . ."

"And whips?" Ben put in, waggling his eyebrows.

Stella jostled him with her shoulder. He peered down at her cleavage. I felt like I was at a Playboy bunny party. "Chains, like necklaces, earrings, bracelets, zippers and stuff like that, Ben," Stella slurred, talking with her hands waving around her neck and ears. "She's looking for jewelry for Bee's outfit for tonight."

Uh-oh, sounded like I was going to look like a biker chick. "Ben," I asked in my best warning voice. "Are you giving Ingrid money to dress me?"

Ben put his hands in the air, palms forward. "Hey, hey, no way. I would never be that good to you."

"He's joking," Stella giggled.

"No, he's not," I a.s.sured her. "Has Ingrid always had a big interest in fashion?"

"I don't think so. She's always looked good, but anybody that beautiful would, wouldn't they? She works, but doesn't like to talk about what she does. Callie thinks she's a ma.s.seuse, I think she's a call girl, but maybe she really just works at a boutique. Maybe some cheezy one that she'd be embarra.s.sed to tell us about like Forever 21."

"Let's go, people," the dealer urged. "Place your bets."

I peeked at my pocket and found a two of diamonds, seven of clubs. Even if I was trying to act like a fish, I couldn't stick with this one. I folded.

"n.o.body folds at this table," the j.a.panese girl playing footsies with Ben announced.

"I noticed," I observed drily.

Ben went all in in a crazy jackal move. The Flop was two deuces and a four of spades. For some reason everyone was matching Ben's bet which was totally crazy since I had one of the other two deuces. Fourth Street was an 8 of diamonds. The fourth deuce fell on The River. d.a.m.n d.a.m.n d.a.m.n.

Ben took everyone's money with a King kicker. I couldn't believe it.

"See?" The footsie girl looked at me. "That's why you don't fold at this table."

Sixteen.

As I walked back to my cabin, I realized that looking for answers had just complicated the puzzle instead of clarifying it, not to mention making someone angry enough to want to make me "gone." I couldn't prove the spa invaders had anything to do with the note, but since I didn't routinely make people mad enough to want to make me disappear, I had to a.s.sume so. I stopped at the Internet lobby to e-mail Frank, filling him in on the goings-on, asking his advice on how to proceed with my investigation and which authorities I needed to get involved.

I felt eyes on me again as I walked down the hallway to my cabin. Paranoia was uncomfortable, I told myself. But since I was fresh from almost being flung out the window at ten stories, my sense of self-preservation overpowered my intellect, and I looked over my shoulder. The hallway was empty, although I heard a door down the hall click shut. "Jack?" I called. No one popped out of the decorative greenery.

Sighing, I let myself into the cabin to pure, blissful quiet. I had an overwhelming urge to lie down on the bed and sleep for days. The vacation I'd hoped would be an opportunity to relax had been nothing but a headache since before we boarded the Sea Gambler. It was four o'clock, leaving me only an hour before my Softer Secrets workshop. I could take a little rest. Or I could dress and get out of the cabin before my fashionista returned with chains and zippers for me to wear. That was a better idea.

Besides deciding what to say in my workshop, I still needed to cement my plan for returning Kinkaid's phone case. Her phone wasn't in it, that would've been way too much fun and way too easy to prove she had been in Valka's room at the spa sometime in the last twelve hours. I remembered seeing her pull her phone out of its glittering case last night during the tournament but I didn't think to look for it when I encountered her in the stairway this afternoon. I'd decided to find her on the pretense of asking about the progress on finding Rawhide, and ask not so casually if she was missing her phone case. I wanted her to suspect I might know where it was and worry. Desperation made people do telling things.

I rang the desk and asked for Jack Smack's cabin. He wasn't in, but I left a message that I wanted to meet him for a drink before dinner to ask him about Sam the Man. It was only after I hung up that I remembered I was supposed to meet Ian at that time also. Oh well, I'd make it work.

After my third shower of the day, I threw on a lime and lemon swirl pattern cotton dress with crocheted bolero and my favorite Manolos. I grabbed my Prada clutch with the oversize sequins and sat down at the couch to transfer the vital items out of my Michael Kors. Sliding it out of its pillowcase, I paused and frowned. I thought I'd put the purse in with the back facing front. Now the front was facing front. I shrugged, deciding I was getting forgetful.

I removed my MAC lip gloss, bronzer, glitter powder and my purse-size Guerlain perfume. I slid my cabin key in the keeper pocket of the clutch. Then, I unzipped the side pocket of the Kors and reached for the jeweled phone case. Nothing.

What?

My fingers grappled in the empty s.p.a.ce, trying to make the evidence reappear with double the effort. No such luck. I turned the purse over and shook out the contents. Lots of junk. No rainbow-jeweled phone case.

Flinging the comforter back, I searched the bed linens. No jeweled case. I searched the floor. Nothing. Frantic, I opened the closet and looked inside the shoes and pockets. No case. I ran my hands over Ingrid's bed, in her pillows. Nothing.

"What are you looking for?"

I jumped. Ingrid stood behind me, putting down two shopping bags. I don't know how she'd gotten into the room without me hearing her. I'd have to wonder about that later. "Something is missing," I finally answered.

"And you think I took it?"

"No, I think someone's been in our room."

"How much money did they take?"

Money? I hadn't even thought of that. I returned to the pile on my bed and plucked out my wallet. Opening it, I counted my traveler's checks and credit cards. Everything was there. "No money."

"No money? What did they get then-your good jewelry, maybe gold, diamonds, pearls?"

I shook my head. The only good jewelry I'd ever owned had been my five-carat marquis-cut diamond engagement ring that I'd returned in a fit of rage, having seen my fiance in flagrante delicto with someone other than me. Stupid move. I could've sold the rock and paid for the rewiring of my house, or better yet, bought a midlife crisis Miata. Important life lesson-don't let your heart rule your mind. Or, don't let your pride throw a hundred thousand dollars at a man's crotch.

"What is it then, Bee?" Ingrid demanded.

I didn't trust Ingrid, so couldn't fess up to having Kinkaid's phone case, although I couldn't come up with a plausible reason why either of them would be conspiring to fling poker players off the ship either. I'd work on that one more later as well.

"Oh, no big deal," I said, collecting all the things on the bed and stuffing them back into the Michael Kors. "I probably just misplaced it."

"Maybe we should call security if you think someone unauthorized has been in the room."