Murder for the Halibut (23 page)

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Rosie had had a little too much to
drink. The older woman’s slurred words were the first clue. As her friend got right
up in Marsha’s face, Jordan cringed, knowing Rosie wasn’t finished with the sexy chef
yet.

Casey rushed over like a knight in shining armor and stood beside Marsha, whose mouth
still hung open. Jordan stifled a giggle, knowing the two chefs had no idea how powerful
the woman with the long, blond braid could
be. Even working as a tag team, Marsha and Casey didn’t stand a chance.

“Where would you get a silly idea like that?” Casey asked, squeezing between Rosie
and Marsha.

By this time both Ray and Alex had walked over to see what was going on. It occurred
to Jordan that neither had heard the story about the two women in the ship’s kitchen,
since she and Rosie were still waiting for an opportunity to talk to Ray alone.

“I heard you talking in the bathroom,” Rosie lied. “One of you killed Stefano, and
I want to know which one.” She turned to Thomas, who was now standing close by. “Or
did you kill him?”

Alex gently took hold of Rosie’s arm and guided her away from Marsha, who had now
recovered from the initial shock and looked ready to go to war.

“We were nowhere near the kitchen that day. You must’ve heard wrong,” Marsha said,
eyes narrowed and now daring Rosie to say something else. “Or you had a little too
much to drink—like now.”

Rosie jerked forward, nearly breaking Alex’s hold on her.

“Hold on, Rosie.” Ray moved in between Casey and Marsha before addressing the two
women. “There’s a steward on the ship who begs to disagree with you. He admitted cutting
out a few minutes of the kitchen security tape for the two of you.”

“That little jerk,” Casey said, throwing her arms in the air. She turned to Marsha.
“I told you he couldn’t be trusted. But no, you were so sure that a little make-out
session would keep him quiet.”

Jordan glanced at Ray, wondering why he hadn’t told
them about this new information when he and Goose joined them at lunch the other day.
When the corners of his mouth curled in an obvious gotcha smile, it dawned on her
that he’d been bluffing.

He took one step closer to Marsha. “Did you put ground nuts into Stefano’s spice bottle?”

Marsha gasped. “What? Of course not.”

“Then what were you doing in the kitchen?”

Her eyes begged Casey for help, but the other chef only shrugged. By now everyone
on the ship had formed a circle around the two women and was waiting to hear their
explanation.

“We only wanted to mess with him,” Marsha finally admitted. “We were going to dilute
the spice bottle with salt to ruin his halibut.”

“Did you know he was allergic to peanuts?” Alex asked, moving up next to Ray as if
he anticipated trouble.

“We had no idea the little shit had a problem with that,” Casey chimed in. “We didn’t
want to kill him. We only wanted to embarrass him in front of Christakis. God knows
Stefano has taken great pleasure humiliating me on several occasions.”

“So you’re admitting you tampered with his spice bottle before the competition?” Ray
asked.

“Hell no,” Casey said. “The baskets were already sealed when we got there.”

By the time the captain glided the boat into the slip, Ray had calmed everyone down.
He’d put Lola in charge of keeping Rosie port side while Marsha and Casey were starboard.
Once they docked, the gang caught a cab to Turtle Beach, a lovely strip of white sand
rimmed by beautiful turquoise water. After the snorkeling trip, none of them wanted
to stay in the sun for long, and they returned to the ship after only an hour.

Walking down the concrete pier to the boat, they were uncharacteristically quiet.
Jordan was already mentally planning a little alone time with Alex followed by a nice
power nap cuddled in his arms before tonight’s comedy show. They could all use a few
drinks and a lot of laughs after Rosie’s confrontation with Casey and Marsha on the
excursion boat.

Okay, maybe more laughter but less liquor for Rosie.

As they started up the ramp into the ship, something caught Jordan’s eye, and she
stopped to stare at the orange emergency boats mounted on the side of the
Carnation Queen
. Six of them were attached at each end with three smaller brown ones in the middle.

Seeing them hanging from the ship reminded Jordan of the Titanic, and she began to
do the math to calculate if the boats would accommodate all the passengers in case
of an emergency. Once again, she caught a movement on the middle brown boat. Thinking
her eyes might be playing a trick on her, she pressed against the rail for a better
look.

This time she was able to make out a strip of orange and blue plaid material flapping
in the wind—a piece so small it would have been easily missed unless you were looking
directly at the rescue boat.

She closed her eyes, picturing Goose wearing the identical plaid shirt that had been
a gift from his wife, and she caught her breath. “Oh no!”

Alex was at her side immediately. “What?”

She pointed. “That’s Goose’s shirt,” she said as the others circled her, then followed
her gaze in the direction of the life boat.

“Holy crap! What does that mean?” Victor asked, moving closer to the railing.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Ray said to no one in particular. “I have to get security
down here right away.” He turned and ran up the ramp, showed his ID to the security
officer, and was on the phone to Orlando within minutes.

“I need access to the rescue boats,” he commanded after hanging up the phone.

The security officer nodded to one of the stewards,
who motioned for Ray to follow him. With the rest of the gang right behind them, the
steward led Ray to the third deck. There they met Orlando, who was obviously out of
breath from running, and they walked to the side where the boats were attached to
the ship.

“I’ll check it out,” the acting head of security said, reaching for the gloves his
assistant handed him from what looked like a large tackle box.

Cautiously, he made his way onto the small boat and pulled the fabric off. He held
it up for everyone to see. “I’m pretty sure this is Goose’s shirt.” After slipping
it into a small plastic bag that he pulled from his pocket, he turned back to take
a better look.

As they waited patiently to hear if it was just a bad coincidence, their hopes for
a happy ending were dashed with Orlando’s next words.

“It looks like there’s blood on the edge of the boat. Hand me the box, Ray.”

After Ray handed it to him, Orlando knelt down to get a sample. Jordan held her breath
while he tested it.

“It’s definitely blood,” Orlando confirmed, a defeated look on his face.

Jordan patted Rosie’s shoulder when she heard her gasp. Although they couldn’t be
a hundred percent sure, it was looking pretty good that something terrible had happened
to Goose here. But with no other evidence, all they could do was contact the Saint
Kitts Coast Guard and notify the American authorities in Miami of a possible man overboard.

Jordan’s gut told her that Goose was dead, but even though both Ray and Alex agreed
with her, there was no way to prove it. She couldn’t help wondering who would
pay for Mary Alice Goosman’s care now—if there even was a Mrs. Gooseman.

Jordan walked into
the theater with Alex and strode toward the front row where the others were waiting.
With all that had happened, there had been no time to sneak in either a few minutes
alone with Alex or a nap. Alex had gone with Ray and Orlando to the security office
to notify the authorities, and he’d barely made it back in time for the competition.
Apparently, they’d met with both Wayne Francis and Emily to discuss the fate of the
cook-off. Uncertain if Goose had fallen overboard or simply walked off the ship in
Saint Martin and disappeared, they’d decided the show must go on since twenty-five
hundred people had paid good money to see it.

Unable to think about anything else except Goose and his wife since she’d first spotted
the torn shirt on the rescue boat, Jordan welcomed the distraction of tonight’s competition.
With a heavy heart, she gave Alex a peck on the cheek, then walked onto the stage.
All of the contestants were already there except Marsha Davenport.

Since the chefs were cooking desserts, Jordan felt sure a trip to the Lido Deck afterward
for fast food wouldn’t be necessary, particularly if the entries were made of chocolate.

She could only hope.

She surveyed the judges’ table, not surprised to see that Beau was missing, too. She
suspected the two were off somewhere doing something inappropriate. As an image of
the two of them rolling around in bed popped into her mind, she squeezed her eyes
shut to erase it.

“Are you okay?”

She opened them to see George Christakis at her side, his face showing his concern.

She nodded, linked arms with him, and then allowed him to lead her to the judges’
table where he pulled out the chair for her.

“You’ll do fine tonight, Jordan,” he said, sitting down next to her. “It’s desserts.
Even I’m looking forward to it. Did I ever tell you I have a mean sweet tooth?” He
patted his slightly pudgy belly and winked.

“Hope you’re right about that,” she said, returning his smile. “Otherwise I’ll be
looking for—”

She stopped talking when Marsha sauntered onto the stage and meandered over to her
station. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and once again Jordan fought to get that
rolling-in-the-hay image out of her head.

As if on cue, Beau walked up the steps a minute later grinning like the proverbial
cat that had just swallowed the canary. After he smiled seductively at Marsha, Jordan
was positive she was right about what the two had been doing. Thoroughly disgusted,
she stared as the
canary
patted her bed head before giving
the cat
another half smile.

“Make you want to vomit?” George whispered into her ear.

“Oh yeah,” Jordan replied, wondering where Charlese Lincoln was hiding while all this
hanky-panky was playing out. The woman definitely loved the bottle, but surely she
could see what was going on. Was Beau’s money so enticing that she put up with his
antics?

Sheesh! Nothing is worth that
, Jordan thought as she made eye contact with Alex, who was sitting between Rosie
and Victor in the front row. He winked.

Okay, maybe Alex is
.

The crowd noise died down when Emily appeared on the stage in a bright pink sundress
that showed off her slightly sunburned shoulders. Jordan was glad she had insisted
her friend forget about work for at least a few hours earlier that day. From the way
Emily was smiling, it appeared that even the short time playing had done wonders for
whatever had been bothering her.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” the hostess began. “Welcome to the semifinalist
round of the Caribbean Cook-Off. After tonight’s competition, two contestants will
be eliminated, and tomorrow’s event will feature the lucky remaining two going head-to-head
with their presentation of main entrées. The winner of tomorrow’s competition will
walk away with the grand prize of an advertising contract worth over half a million
dollars.” She waited for the applause to die down. “Keeping that in mind, it is especially
important that each contestant give us their best effort here tonight. So, chefs,
are you ready?”

After they all nodded, she walked over to Casey’s station and opened the basket. “Tonight
each of you will have sixty-minutes to prepare your favorite dessert. As you can see,
the table in the back is loaded with fresh fruits of all kinds and plenty of other
delicious items to make a great dessert. The only requirement is that you find a way
to incorporate these four ingredients.” She reached into the basket and pulled out
the items. “We have triple sec, tapioca, ground cinnamon, and blueberries.” She placed
the items back into the basket and returned to center stage. “And one other thing.
Since Marsha won the appetizer round, she chose chocolate as the one ingredient that
no other contestant can use tonight.”

After introducing the contestants and the judges once again, she raised her arm. “Okay,
chefs. Your hour begins now.”

The digital timer overhead began counting down as the chefs took off for the table
at the back of the stage. Before long, wonderful aromas began to fill the air, and
Jordan eased back into her chair and allowed her shoulder muscles to relax. Tonight
would be her reward for making it through the competition so far. Tomorrow’s main
entrées might be a whole different ball game, though. She might as well enjoy it while
she could.

She peered out into the audience and wondered if Thomas Collingsworth was out there
somewhere. Now that he’d been eliminated, would he support Casey? Thinking about those
two, Jordan spotted Rosie, glad they had found a few minutes to tell Ray everything
they knew about the lady chefs and Thomas. As expected, Ray had gone ballistic when
they’d confessed to entering Marsha’s room illegally, and he’d lectured them nonstop
for fifteen minutes.