Murder of a Needled Knitter (2 page)

Charting the Course

“M
iss?”

“Hmm?” Skye Denison Boyd mumbled, then turned on her side and drifted back to sleep as she murmured, “Just a couple more minutes.”

“Miss, are you okay?” A melodic voice with an island lilt intruded on Skye's nap again. “You were shoutin' and thrashin' around something fierce.”

“I was?” Skye slowly raised her head from the lounge chair and squinted. The bright sunshine was blinding, making it impossible to see the person speaking to her.

Skye and her brand-new husband, Wally Boyd, had been among the first to arrive that afternoon on Countess Cays, the private Bahamian resort owned by Countess Cruise Lines. Wally had gone in search of drinks, leaving Skye to work on her tan. She must have dozed off and been having a nightmare. Considering that this was the second day of her honeymoon, what in the world could she have been dreaming about that would make her scream?

Before Skye could contemplate this perplexing issue further, the person standing over her moved closer,
blocking out the sun and allowing Skye finally to observe her would-be rescuer. The short, plump young woman was one of the local workers who had greeted the
Diamond Countess
passengers as they had disembarked. She was carrying an enormous basket of used towels, which she rested against an ample hip while swaying rhythmically to the music coming from a nearby steel band.

Skye swept a few strands of hair out of her eyes and said, “I'm fine. It must have been a bad dream. I got married on Saturday and I haven't gotten much sleep the past couple of nights because . . .” She heard herself babbling and trailed off.
Really?
Had she been just about to share her sex life with a stranger? She needed to get a grip. “Anyway, thanks for your concern.”

The woman's ebony cheeks creased into a smile, and she said, “No need to be explaining, miss.” She jerked her head toward a spot a few feet behind Skye. “If that's your man heading this way, I wouldn't be wasting my time in bed snoozing either.” The woman grinned and strolled away.

Skye twisted her head and examined Wally as he walked toward her holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a frozen margarita in the other. Her pulse fluttered. He really was incredibly handsome. Well-fitting navy swim trunks rested low on his hips, showing off washboard abs, a sculpted chest, and muscular legs. His olive complexion was already beginning to turn a glowing bronze, and even from this distance, Skye could see the warmth in his chocolate brown eyes as he saw her watching him.

She waved, and he increased his pace. It was hard to believe that Wally was actually her husband. She'd been in love with him since the first time she saw him. He'd moved to her hometown to work as a rookie cop in the Scumble River Police Department when she was a teenager, but the difference in their ages had kept them apart. Then for nearly a decade and a half various
life circumstances had intervened. Finally, a few years ago, the planets had lined up and they'd begun dating. At the time, Skye hadn't allowed herself to hope that she'd ever be his wife. But now, at long last, they were married.

She sighed in contentment, then tensed as she remembered her nightmare. It had featured her mother, May. Not that Skye didn't love her mom, she did, but when she and Wally had first boarded the
Diamond Countess
, she had thought she'd caught a glimpse of May on the stairway.

Wally hadn't noticed the woman, and he'd assured Skye that the person she'd spotted had probably only looked like her mother. No doubt, he'd explained, the excitement of their marriage and the stress of the murder investigation they'd wrapped up only minutes before leaving on their honeymoon had sent Skye's imagination into overdrive.

In all likelihood, Wally was right. But during her bachelorette party, Skye had overheard her mother saying she and Skye's dad were going on a cruise. May's knitting group was joining knitters from all over for a trip led by a famous knitting guru. That alone made Skye wary.

Still, what were the odds it was this particular cruise? Hundreds of cruise ships plied the oceans, and Skye had no idea
when
her parents were going. She'd been too busy with her rehearsal dinner and the wedding the next day to question her mother about her folks' vacation plans. Then there was the fact that May's first grandchild was due any day. Surely, she wouldn't dare miss the blessed event. She'd been obsessing about having grandbabies since her own children hit puberty.

But the most compelling reason for thinking that Skye's imagination was running wild was that there hadn't been any sign of May on Sunday during the lifeboat drill or at the sail-away party as the ship had
glided out of Fort Lauderdale or at dinner later that evening. Or anywhere else that night or today.

Of course, this morning Wally and Skye hadn't left their suite until they'd boarded the tender to the island, and the previous evening they hadn't stayed very long in the dining room since a rowdy bunch seated at several tables in the rear of the restaurant had been noisily celebrating New Year's Eve a few hours early.

Instead of the long romantic meal Skye and Wally had envisioned, they'd eaten the appetizer and main course quickly, then taken the dessert back to their cabin to enjoy in solitude. Which had turned out for the best, since they'd found an even tastier way to consume the whipped cream and chocolate sauce than on the profiteroles for which the toppings were intended.

Their waiter had said the boisterous crowd was part of a special interest group that would be attending programs, going on excursions, and taking part in private mixers and parties. The participants looked like they were having a blast, and Skye was happy for them, but she was also thankful that the ship had what they called a “your choice” dining plan instead of reserved seating, so she and Wally could select from different restaurants and times to eat and avoid the exuberant bunch.

When Skye heard a burst of raucous laughter, she glanced behind her, thinking it might be that group, and was relieved to see that the braying laugh had come from a guy who had stopped Wally. From the man's gestures, he seemed to be asking for directions.

The resort was located on a long, narrow peninsula that offered cruise passengers a half mile of white-sand beach where they could relax or indulge in water sports. Along with the unspoiled shoreline, there was also an observation tower, an outdoor bar and restaurant, and a native craft market for the ship's guests to enjoy. The entire complex was connected by planked walkways, and at the crossings, arrows on wooden
posts pointed to the various attractions. Still, Skye could see how easy it would be to get lost. Especially if the poor guy talking to Wally had as bad a sense of direction as she did.

Relaxing back against her chaise, Skye scanned the people who had spread out towels near the water. She told herself that she wasn't looking for her mother because Wally must be right; she hadn't seen her mom aboard the
Diamond Countess
. Then again, since embarking, Skye and Wally hadn't spent much time outside their suite, and with over three thousand passengers aboard, the chance of seeing any one particular person was slight. May could still be on their ship.

Before Skye could work herself into a state of panic, Wally strolled up, deposited their drinks on the small table next to her, and dropped to his knees beside her chair.

He nuzzled her neck, and said, “I like your hair up like this.”

“You just like the fact that it didn't take me an hour to get ready,” Skye teased. She'd twisted her mass of chestnut curls into a knot on top of her head, figuring there was no use wasting time with a flat iron when she was spending the afternoon in the heat and humidity.

“True,” Wally admitted, trailing kisses down her cleavage while he caressed her leg. “You're beautiful without all the extra fuss.”

Distracted by the sensation of his fingers stroking the inside of her thigh, Skye made a noncommittal noise. Wally had won her heart years ago, but their wedding vows had unlocked her soul. She'd thought the physical attraction between them couldn't get any hotter, but the freedom to enjoy each other without the lingering guilt—or need to go to confession—had ratcheted the whole experience up to an entirely new level.

Wally joined Skye on the double lounge chair and they were indulging in some serious lip lock when she heard a sniggering voice yell, “Get a room!”

Color flooding her cheeks, Skye jerked away from Wally and saw a crowd of kids staring at them. She deliberately turned her head away from the group, pretending indifference to their presence, and discreetly checked to make sure that her bathing suit still covered every body part it was intended to conceal. Wally opened his mouth to say something, but Skye squeezed his hand and gave a tiny headshake. She'd been a school psychologist for enough years to know better than to engage a pack of adolescents on the prowl.

Ignoring the teens, Skye said in a conversational tone, “Let's take our drinks and walk over to the observation tower. I want to get some panoramic shots with my new camera. The island information flyer in the
Diamond Dialogue
said the view is breathtaking.”

“Fine,” Wally grumbled, then stood and gave Skye a hand to assist her to her feet. “But I told you we should have rented a bungalow.”

“Two hundred dollars for a hut the size of a walk-in closet?” Growing up as part of a farming family, Skye had learned not to blow extra cash on foolishness. And as an employee of the public school system, she earned an income that barely allowed her to make ends meet. Frugality was now second nature to her. “And we'd only use the bungalow for three or four hours. I don't think so.”

“We can afford to indulge ourselves on our honeymoon,” Wally insisted. “And it would have been worth it to have some privacy.”

“We already have a suite on the ship,” Skye protested. “Which I love.” She still wasn't used to Wally's attitude about money. He was by no means a spendthrift, living off his salary as the Scumble River police chief, but since he'd grown up the son of a Texas oil millionaire, his idea of what was extravagant and Skye's idea tended to be wildly divergent. “But we really could have been just as comfortable in a nice cabin with a balcony, instead of a suite.”

“Maybe.” Wally helped Skye on with her cover-up, handed her the margarita he'd put on the table, and picked up his beer. “But I wanted the best for you.” He smiled down at her. “Besides, I told you I got a really good deal from the travel agent in town.”

“Why was that?” Skye matched her steps to Wally's long strides as they headed toward the observation tower. “I would have thought a New Year's cruise would have been especially popular.”

“Sure.” Wally took a swig of his Kalik. “But the travel agent said that because she had a big group going, we could get a special rate.”

“I think I remember Owen saying he got a good price for the cruise he and Trixie are taking for the same reason.” Skye felt a flicker of unease run up her spine. Trixie Frayne was her best friend, and she loved the pixyish school librarian like a sister, but she wanted to be alone with her new husband, not part of a foursome.

“And you don't remember the name of the ship Trixie and Owen are on this week?” A crease furrowed Wally's forehead. “Surely if it was the
Diamond Countess
that would ring a bell, right?”

“I don't think she ever told me the name.” Skye's expression was shamefaced. “And like I said when you asked before, I was too involved in wedding plans to notice. Not a very good friend, I know.”

“I'm sure Trixie understood that you were preoccupied.” Wally put an arm around her, then joked, “As bridezillas go, you seemed pretty mild.”

“Thanks a lot, mister.” Skye swatted his shoulder with her free hand. “Considering that we had to solve a murder the week of our wedding, I think I was darn near serene and deserve a trophy.”

“I've got a trophy for you.” Wally leered at her playfully. “But you'll have to wait until we get back to our wastefully extravagant suite to get it.”

They continued to banter until they reached a walkway sign that read the C
ROW'S
N
EST
. As they got closer,
Skye saw that the noisy bunch that had been in the dining room the previous night was monopolizing the observation tower. Three or four at a time were taking turns posing on the wooden steps while another person took their photos.

As Wally and Skye waited for the people to get out of the way, Skye gazed at a woman in her late fifties wearing a cowgirl hat that appeared to be made out of neon pink yarn.

The cowgirl was speaking to her companion, who had on a similar hat in lime green. “Why is Guinevere always late? Someone should say something to her about it.”

“I don't know.” The friend rocked back and forth on her heels. “But Guinevere is a tough cookie. I'd be a little scared to cross her.”

“Ah.” Ms. Pink Hat shook her head. “She ain't all that tough. My grandma was tough. She buried four husbands.” The woman paused, then added, “And three were only napping.”

After a polite laugh, Ms. Lime Hat said, “I have no idea why Guinevere is always late, but it's freaking annoying.”

“It is a bit irritating.” Another woman, this one in her early forties and wearing a crisp khaki shorts outfit, dark glasses, and white gloves, joined the conversation.

Skye blinked at the latter. No one had told her that this was a formal beach party. She grinned at the notion of fancy hats and tea cakes in the sand, then returned her attention to the scene in front of her.

The woman adjusted her sunglasses, and said in a soft Southern drawl, “This is our fourth activity, and the fact that the leader hasn't arrived on time for any of them is a little inconsiderate.”