Cashed In Part 9

"Bad things have a habit of happening around you, don't they? Six months ago, Stan gets killed, now Rick is almost killed. Who is the common denominator? You."

She was right, of course. I didn't think she was in the mood to hear me whine about bad karma and my theory on money and trouble right now so I just held her righteous gaze.

Delia narrowed her eyes at me. "I'll remember that."

So would I.

I awoke at just after noon to the ring of the telephone next to my bed. I was tempted to ignore it except I thought it might be my mother and if I ignored her she would be knocking at the door in a matter of minutes. I a.s.sumed Ingrid, who'd been blessedly asleep when I'd come in, was long gone doing what stunning Amazonian model types do on tropical cruises. I reached out of the covers pulled over my head and found the receiver.

"Ar-oh?" I croaked into it.

"Belinda?" A pleasant-sounding tenor that rang a familiar bell asked.

"Ye-oo." My back seized up as I tried to sit up in bed. I was going to have to start working out regularly or taking Geritol or something. I hadn't been battered by anything but Delia's words last night, but my body ached like it had met a truck on the interstate.

"It's Ian," my caller clarified. The image of Mr. Hot sprang into the cabin, kick-starting my brain and my beauty regimen as I bolted up against the pillows and began finger combing my hair. He continued. "Tell me: Is anything wrong? I've been looking all over this ship for you. I pegged you for an early riser."

So I'd been right. He had been fitting me into one of his psychology holes the whole time he'd been with me. Hmm. I thought of that plastic puzzle game my G.o.ddaughter played as a baby, fitting different shaped pieces into the right opening. Was I a hexagon or a pentagon? Nothing too symmetrical, I had a couple of misshapen sides for sure. Maybe those would prevent him from categorizing me. I'm not certain why I wanted to throw him for a loop except that I am a bit perverse that way.

"I'm fine, just sleeping in a bit. I had a late night."

"Oh?" His voice piqued with obvious jealousy. "After I left you?"

"Yes. Rick turned up."

"Really?" Ian didn't sound particularly surprised, but perhaps he was just being guarded in case he hadn't been right. Of course he had been partially right, about the disappearance having something to do with a woman, but I couldn't tell Ian that.

My caller cleared his throat over the line, "Is he . . . ?"

"Rick's alive, although injured. Bashed on the head, or, as one of the security officers suggested later, he slipped and hit his head."

"Sounds plausible. What about Rawhide?"

"I haven't heard anything." I peered at the message light on the phone. It was blinking. "I probably ought to call Kinkaid and check on him."

"Wait, before you go to do that, why don't we agree to meet for lunch at the Fourth Street restaurant?"

Hmm. Where Rick last remembered being before his unfortunate incident. "That would be nice, when?"

"Surely half an hour would give a pretty lady like you enough time?"

Dream on, dude. I'd barely be out of my jammies by then. I knew I was being conned, but apparently it was still working. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. "In order for you to maintain your current fantasy about me, I think I need an hour."

Ian laughed. It came across as a little forced to me, but I guessed it was because he was a man who usually got his way. Or maybe it was because he usually dated girls half my age who could get ready for a date in fifteen minutes or less. "See you then," he said before he hung up.

Replacing the receiver, I swung my legs to the side of the bed and jumped up only to find myself sprawled, belly down, over Ingrid's bed a moment later. Whoa. I was more geriatric than I thought!

"Forgive me for the intrusion, pa.s.sengers," a deep baritone intoned from a small intercom speaker on the ceiling. "This is Captain Santiago at the helm. I hope all of you are having a pleasant cruise so far. I know some of you may have noticed a lurch or two in our normally smooth sailing. There is a tropical disturbance that's blown up in the Gulf of Mexico that we are trying to go around. It surprised us by increasing in intensity overnight more than meteorologists expected, so we are catching just the edges of it. Our plans to dock today have been postponed, since it's not safe to do so at this time. The good news about this is, the tables in the poker room are open and will remain so until we leave international waters again, so you might get some extra game time in. We should experience these rough waters for only a few hours or so, so try your best to be careful moving around the ship until dinnertime."

This was going to be cool. I peeled myself off the bed and tested my footing in a semicrouch. Was I going to have to walk around the ship like an orangutan for the afternoon? I waited for a few minutes and the ship didn't tilt, so I made for the bathroom and sure enough, it gave another lurch. My shoulder smacked into the wall and I catapulted myself for the doork.n.o.b to the bathroom, except the door opened before I could get there and I ended up headfirst in the toilet.

"Bee!" A hand grabbed the straps of my nightgown and hauled me upright. Spitting and spewing, I blinked at my rescuer. "What are you doing here, Ingrid?"

"This is my room."

I sighed. The day had already gone downhill fast enough so that clarifying that one detail wasn't high on my p.i.s.ser list. She began patting my face with a towel.

"Really, Ingrid, I meant, why are you still here in this boring old room instead of enjoying all the excitement this fantastic cruise ship has to offer?"

The corners of her giant azure eyes turned down and she c.o.c.ked her head like my dad's golden retriever when you told him he couldn't go for a ride in the Chevy. "How could I do that? I can't abandon you, I'm your fashionista," she said.

Huh? "My what?"

"We could say clothier, or personal dresser, but fashionista, now that has a ring, so I went with it."

"But I don't need a fashionista . . ."

"You are rich. You are famous. You are going to be in People magazine. You need a fashionista."

Ingrid was delusional. "First of all, I'm not rich so I can't afford any staff with 'ista' on the end. Second, I might be famous on this cruise but that's it. And third, I'm not going to be in People."

Ingrid was nodding as she reviewed my clothing choices, which I noticed, had all been neatly hung up in a color coordinated rainbow in the closet. Keeping her back to me, she held up fingers while she talked. "First, we can work something out like a percentage deal on your wins so you aren't out of pocket any cash. Second, you are big-famous but small-headed and that is good for being your friend but not good for being successful in today's poker world. Number three, you are going to be in People magazine because I have the appointment down on your calendar for two days after the cruise lands."

The cruise lands? It sounded like a s.p.a.ceship coming from Mars, which after this conversation felt about right. "What calendar?"

"I have a calendar of your activities." She waved at a leopard print daytimer on the nightstand. "Including your facial and ma.s.sage which is scheduled for one o'clock. You'd better get a move on."

"I have a lunch date for one o'clock. So what's moving is the spa appointment." Which, incidentally, I didn't ask for.

Turning from the closet with an arm full of a collection of my clothes, she huffed. "You stars! So demanding."

Why did I feel like my life was out of control? I fought for patience first. "Ingrid?" I asked sweetly.

She turned to me, wrapping the long fingers of her left hand around her tanned, taut hip above her silver spandex capris and putting the other out to hurry me up.

"Why does People want to interview me?"

"Because . . ." She paused for heavy emphasis. "You are one hot momma two-time Texas Hold 'Em champion with a fashionista and an att.i.tude."

I tried not to snort in disbelief. For some reason I thought it would offend Ingrid. What? My life was out of control. "Someone at People can't count. I've only won one Hold 'Em tournament."

"Ben told them two."

My twin again. "Well, by the time they interview me I'll have murdered him. Maybe they can write about that instead."

Twelve.

Ingrid apparently had spent the morning, while I slept, cruising the ship, but for fashion not for fun. I don't know where she was getting the money (from Ben, I guessed, in some twisted plot of revenge from when we were fourteen, and Shana and I shaved his legs in his sleep), but she had spent a couple hundred dollars to come up with the worst fashion disaster I had ever seen much less worn. It was a spaghetti strap minidress of a thousand leather chamois dyed in a rainbow of colors hanging in a collage of four-by-six-inch pieces. Some colorful wooden chunky jewelry really dressed it up. Now all I needed was a bone in my nose. I swear I looked like a cavewoman. I would have been way better off with my saggy capri pants.

Ingrid threw me some leather flats decorated with sh.e.l.ls that laced up around my ankles. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse.

Walking past the mirror on our floor, I winced, trying not to look at myself.

At the elevator, I pressed the up b.u.t.ton and waited. I felt a presence but looked behind me and saw nothing but an empty hallway. A few minutes later, the elevator still hadn't arrived. I was tapping my toe impatiently when the potted ficus to my right shook and out popped a man. "Ack!" I screamed before I recognized him. "Jack! I'm sorry; I didn't see you."

"Don't be s-sorry, Bee. I am a master at staying out of sight."

I remembered my urge to hide behind a palm when we were boarding. I guess Jack wasn't so strange, just exaggerated in his phobia.

"Oh, Jack, why did you hide so long? It's just you and me here."

"Sometimes it just t-takes me a while to work up the c-courage to ask what I need to ask."

"What if you don't have anything to ask? What if you're just going to say 'hey'?"

He shook his head and sighed. "Then I don't come out of the plant. If I don't have a conversational agenda, then I can't t-talk to people at all. That's why I went into journalism. It gives me the excuse to interact. I thought it would help me get over the shyness."

"Well, I'm proud of you for trying."

"You know, Bee, you are a good person," he said. I rolled my eyes, and he guffawed. "I really do have to thank you, Bee."

I gave him a shoulder squeeze. "Maybe by the end of the cruise you can just see me and say 'hey'." Nodding, he grinned. "So until then, tell me what you wanted to talk to me about."

The elevator came. Jack went wide-eyed with panic. I waved the couple in it to go on without us. He relaxed.

"T-tell me what's going on with all these poker star disappearances so I can have an exclusive and really break into investigative journalism. I m-mean, a story like this, I could hit network."

"You want to be on TV?"

"My d-dream is to be a correspondent on network television."

"Hmm, that might be a stretch, but if you set your mind to it, you'll do it."

"D-do you think the c-cameras could hide hyperventilating and profuse sweating?"

"Maybe once you get there you'll be beyond all those handicaps." I shook a finger at him. "However, there is one handicap I know you'll have trouble overcoming in order to get on TV."

Jack bowed his head. "I knew it. I'm t-too ugly."

"Nope. You're too modest. I work with enough TV personalities to know that your ego is way too small to survive in that business. Start growing your head right now."

Jack offered a small smile. "I c-can do a lot of things but I can't do that. I'll just have to be an anomaly."

I laughed and hip b.u.mped him. "You are destined for stardom with that att.i.tude."

"And then there's the s-s-stuttering . . ."

"I've noticed, Jack, that you only stutter when you are trying to make conversation, not when you are really after a story."

He brightened, his hazel eyes gleaming with hope. "Really?"

"Yep, ignore it and you'll beat it. Now, what can I tell you?"

"I need whatever you know about the mystery insurance investigator, Rawhide and Rick Santobella and anyone else who's gone MIA."

"I know nothing about the investigator, except that he favors bowling shoes and bow ties. You'd have to talk to Ben about the guy, although I'm not sure he knows much more."

"What about the players vanishing like David Copper-field is on board?"

"I guess there's no proof Rawhide vanished," I said, cagily. "And Rick went AWOL for a time but is fine now."

"Yeah, I heard you two were getting it on, which is why he missed the tournament."

Spinning, I sucked in a breath so hard and so fast I nearly swallowed my tongue. Jack Smack chuckled, holding both his big hands up. "Glad you don't pack heat, or I'd be d-dead. Don't worry, I didn't believe it. Partly because I think you're too good a person to commit adultery, and partly because I saw you at the tables all night and didn't think you were the type to do the n-nasty in a bathroom stall during your ten minute pee break."

I shuddered, and Jack nodded. "I knew it. D-definitely a s-silk sheet, champagne and r-roses girl."

Somehow, Jack's quirky charm drew out a smile when just moments before I thought I would vomit. "I suppose the gossipmongers have me shacked up with Rawhide now?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Scuttleb.u.t.t is he was depressed about his wife's cancer and he now is sh-shark food."

I pulled a face and suddenly found it hard to swallow. "That's worse than hearing I'm a scarlet woman."

Jack was watching at me with his big puppy dog eyes. "You are t-too s-sweet for your own good, you know."

"You've never met me over the felt." I winked.

Jack b.u.mped me with an elbow. "And I won't. N-not ever. I couldn't play my way out of h.e.l.l if the d-devil gave me a single chance."

I was about to answer him but was distracted by someone down the hall. In my peripheral vision, I'd noticed a figure loitering at the end of the hallway and now I turned to look. The hall was empty. Shaking off an eerie feeling as a case of paranoia, I turned back to Jack.

"I really liked Rawhide, purely on intuition. I don't know his real name and can only a.s.sume he gets his nickname from his choice of card marker. Other than that, I couldn't be much help shedding light on what might have happened to him. I know less than you do."

"No one knows his real name, although he once s-supposedly told someone it was John Jones. Some say he is an ex-Texas Ranger. Some say he's an ex-con. Could be both, which would give him plenty of enemies, but I'm betting it's somewhere in between."

"I thought you weren't a betting man," I teased.

"Aw, I'll bet for facts, not ch-chips." Jack grinned.

"Some facts you don't have to guess at. If I were you, I'd talk to Hans with security, surely they've looked at the ship videos and found out exactly what happened to both men."

Jack shook his head. "The cruise line put a gag order on all their employees. n.o.body official's talking."