Sandra Hill - [Jinx] (9 page)

“No. Definitely not. He would have told me if he had,” Flossie said, her brow furrowed just like Veronica’s.

“That’s odd. Just this morning, I wished for a new computer and . . .” Veronica’s words trailed off as she saw Steve standing nearby, leaning against a piling on the bulkhead, arms folded across his chest. Could it be? Did Steve—did the Mafia—get a computer for them? Just because she’d wished for it? Uh-oh! Did it “fall off a truck”? Was it stolen?

For now, she decided not to question Steve. After all, her grandfather might have bought it, without Flossie’s knowledge. Yeah, Frank probably bought it and didn’t want Flossie to know about such an extravagant purchase in light of their diminished finances.

Soon there were two folding tables covered with tablecloths and enough food to feed a school of sharks. Her grandfather and Brenda stood at a utility sink, washing away the grease from their hands from tinkering with the boat’s motor.

And in stumbled Adam, Caleb, and John, all of them resembling monsters in their neoprene deep-sea diving attire. They quickly shucked the fins, fitted hoods, and goggles, and unzipped the suits—which must have been terribly hot—down to their waists, exposing their sweaty chests. Dry suits, which were big and bulky, were a necessity for deep-sea diving. In the cold, bottom waters of the East Coast Atlantic, where the deep wreck diving would be done, the temperature could plunge as low as forty degrees; therefore, hypothermia was always a concern.

Steve was there, too, though he kept to the doorway, standing with his Styrofoam plate in hand. He answered questions from anyone who approached him, but he kept mostly to himself.

At one point, with polka music blasting away, her grandfather explained to them all the recurring problem they were having with the motor. “I wish we could buy a new one, but that’s just not feasible on such short notice. Don’t worry, though. Brenda and I will putter with it.”

Translation to Veronica:
He can’t afford a new one.

There were stacks of delicious chicken salad sandwiches cut into crustless, whole-wheat triangles, and several homemade salads—potato, crab, pasta, and fresh fruit. For dessert, there was baklava, still warm from the oven. Plus, Flossie had provided a bowl of grapefruit slivers for Brenda, who was on a grapefruit-only diet. Flossie must have been busy all morning. For some reason, Veronica had never pictured her as the domestic type. Probably because of the way she looked. Today, she wore blue capri pants; a matching blue and white sweater tucked into the pants that sported a wide silver chainlink belt; and high-heeled, silver slingbacks. And of course the big, blonde hair and makeup out the kazoo.

Flossie was probably another example of Veronica’s misjudging people, à la her grandmother, she decided.

At one point during lunch, Veronica thought back to her grandfather’s complaint to Flossie about bringing so much food. She wondered why Flossie, usually sensitive to her grandfather’s every wish, would be so careless when money was tight. Frank looked at her, as if reading her mind. “It’s cheaper than the caterer Floss wanted to hire.” He sighed dramatically.

Just then, Flossie went, “Eeeek!”

“What? What?” Frank grumbled. “Did you see another mouse? I swear those exterminators don’t know what they’re doing.”

“No, silly,” Flossie responded. “I broke one of my sculptured nails opening the pressure lock on that plastic container.”

“Shiiiit!” Frank exclaimed while the rest of them stifled a grin. “Why dontcha just cut them all off?”

Flossie’s expression of horror was priceless. You’d think he had suggested cutting off a limb.

“Don’t start cryin’, for chrissake,” he interjected quickly. Everyone knew Flossie was going through menopause, and her mood swings were horrific. “Just go over to that nail place and have it fixed.”

“I wish I could.” Flossie sniffled. “But Vivian is out with the flu, and no one else at Nail You does manicures like her. Good heavens, it’s hot in here. Did you turn the air conditioner down again?”

Meanwhile, polka music continued to blast away on Frank’s tape player. A scene right out of a Fellini movie.

“Uh, any chance we could turn the music down?” Veronica asked Frank.

“What? You don’t like polka?” The amazement on his face was almost comical, as if everyone should like accordion music.

“I don’t mind polka, but it’s too loud. And, jeesh, I didn’t even know there was such a thing as disco polka. There ought to be a law or something.”

“There’s no such thing as a too-loud polka,” her grandfather said stubbornly, and walked away.

The disco polka music segued into “The Last Polka.” She could only hope.

Nevertheless, excitement rippled throughout the group, the crew talking excitedly about the upcoming diving expedition and what they might find. Everyone seemed to be on an adrenaline rush. Veronica assumed it was the same at the onset of every new treasure-hunting project.

“Nice outfit,” Flossie told her.

Oh, that’s just great. I’m fond of Flossie, but she really has horrible taste in clothes.
“Thanks. The food is delicious. Did you prepare it all yourself?”

Flossie practically beamed at the compliment. “Yes. It’s the first time I’ve tried baklava, though. Was it okay?”

“More than okay. I had three pieces.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Flossie, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Flossie immediately went stiff, bracing for what she thought might come.

“What’s wrong with my grandfather? I mean, how bad is the money crunch?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Flossie’s face bloomed with a blush.

She’s lying.
“He won’t even show me his checkbook.”

Flossie’s blush deepened to crimson under her heavy makeup. “He doesn’t show
me
his checkbook, either. We have separate accounts.”

Hmmm! That could be another sign of his money problems.
“I can’t help him if he keeps me in the dark. Can’t you make him be more forthcoming with me?”

“Do you honestly believe I could make your grandfather do something he doesn’t want to?”

“You’ve been with him a long time.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve been with Jake a long time, too. Off and on. Does he follow your orders?”

Veronica laughed. “Point taken.”

“Where is Jake, anyhow? I thought he’d be back here by now. Frank keeps getting an answering machine when he calls Jake’s condo.”

“Oh, I forgot that he was supposed to help with the project,” Veronica lied. “I have no idea where he is.”
Actually, I can guess. He’s with his fiancée. Maybe even off somewhere, like Las Vegas, getting married.

Flossie squeezed her hand with understanding.

Well, that certainly brought my good mood down to the pits. Next I’ll be having a crying jag, like Flossie. I’ve gotta stop this. Change the subject. Anything.
“Let’s cut to the chase here. Is Jinx, Inc., on the verge of bankruptcy?”

Flossie’s pink face went bright red. “You’ll have to ask Frank about that.” Turning abruptly, she said over her shoulder, “I need to clean up.”

Okaaay,
Veronica thought.
Flossie refuses to answer my questions. Hmmm.

Frank was clapping his hands, calling everyone to attention. “Back to work, guys. We’ll meet here again tomorrow morning, hopefully with a firm departure time. See you then.”

The three divers were putting on their dry suits again when her grandfather came up and handed her a big box. “Here. This is for you,” he said gruffly.

“For me? A gift?”

“Why shouldn’t I give you a gift?”

“Maybe because you never even sent me a birthday card in the past thirty-two years.”

Frank jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “I sent cards . . . and presents, too.” Under his breath, he muttered, “The bitch!” Then he stomped away, over to Flossie, where he began talking and gesticulating wildly.

Really, the man had the disposition of a bear. Could it be true, what he said about having sent her cards and gifts? If so, her grandmother had a lot more to answer for than giving her the boot from the law firm. But she couldn’t think about that now. She set the large box on the floor and saw the imprint on the top: “Elmer’s Dive Shop, Brielle, NJ.”

He wouldn’t.

She opened the box and dropped the lid on the floor.

He would.

Inside was a complete neoprene diving outfit, a wet suit, not a dry suit like the men had on, which meant it would be very tight. “Noooooo!” she screeched, and looked toward her grandfather, who, surprise, surprise, had already left the premises. “I’m not going to be deep diving,” she yelled, hoping he could hear her from where he was probably hiding.

“Of course you won’t be deep diving. You need to practice in shallow water first,” he called back, his voice getting progressively fainter as he walked away.

Her skin felt clammy, and her head hurt as she stared down at the “gift.” It was another way in which her grandfather hoped to torture her. She had enough problems breathing in the salt air, let alone diving. No way! The man must have lost his mind.

She decided she needed to find the miniature St. Jude statue that Tante Lulu had given her and everyone else on the team before she’d left last week. Patron saint of hopeless causes, she was pretty sure the old lady had explained. The problem was, in this situation, she wasn’t sure if it was her or her grandfather who fell into that category.

“Oh, definitely you,”
a voice in her head said. Whether it was St. Jude or her subconscious speaking, she couldn’t say, but it gave a whole new meaning to the expression “talking heads.”

Veronica started to walk back to the office, then turned around, walked back, and picked up the box. Maybe she’d try it on to see how ludicrous she looked in such a revealing suit.

The voice in her head was laughing.

Chapter
8

How long can a woman suck in her stomach without exploding . . . ?

“Hey, Ronnie,” Adam Famosa called out as he walked into the Jinx, Inc., office a short time later.

Veronica was in the restroom, where she had done the most ridiculous thing. She’d actually shimmied herself into the skintight diving suit. Chalk it up to female vanity. Well, she’d found out how revealing it was when she checked herself out in the long mirror on the back of the restroom door.

The “rubber” suit, which pretty much amounted to a full-body girdle, was so revealing, she was pretty sure the mole on her left breast was evident, not to mention the cellulite on her thighs. A woman would have to be a flat-chested, perfect size five to feel comfortable in this thing, and Veronica hadn’t been a size five since she was, oh, let’s say, ten. And while not supersized in the bust department, she was not a pancake, either.

“Ronnie?” Adam called out again. His persistence would have been admirable under other circumstances. But right now, jeesh, you’d think he would take the hint that maybe she didn’t want to talk with him since she wasn’t answering his call. Men. They were all clueless—even when they were well educated, which Adam was.

Incredible!
she thought, and walked out.

Adam’s face broke into a grin. It was unclear whether he was grinning at the prospect of her as a diver, or because he was happy to see her, or because she resembled a sausage and was making a spectacle of herself.

A second passed, though it seemed like an hour, as Adam continued to grin, despite having to know perfectly well that she was embarrassed to be seen in the revealing garment. His dark eyes roamed her body at will. Adam was the type of guy girls like her avoided in high school—one with experience in his eyes and one thing on his mind. He was no teenager, and Veronica was no schoolgirl, either. The implications were frightening . . . and tantalizing, at the same time.

“Hey, Ronnie,” he said lazily, but only after he’d looked his fill.

“Adam,” she replied, which was not easy to do when sucking in her tummy. Slowly, she eased her breath out, and—
Thank you, God!
—her stomach stayed flat. No water retention today. Still, she stood extra straight, just in case. “Don’t you dare say a word, or you are dead meat,” she warned, waving at her attire.

He indicated his lips were sealed, but his eyes were laughing. “Are you going to be diving with us?”

“Hardly. This is my grandfather’s idea of a joke.” At least, she thought it was. Frank couldn’t seriously think she would go diving, not with her fear of the ocean. “I’ve never done any diving.”

“I could teach you,” he offered. His words said he was referring to skin diving; his eyes said something entirely different. “I’m free later today.”

Oh, boy! He is not going to give up.
“No, thanks.”

“C’mon. Diving with you would be fun.”

Not in my dictionary.
“Maybe another day,” she lied. “I’m tied up this afternoon.”
Or I will be if I can get out of this glove.

Adam was a Cuban expatriate, having escaped to this country with his parents when he was only eleven. When he wasn’t teaching oceanography at Rutgers, he was enjoying his hobby as a diver on deep-sea-wreck diving expeditions. His long black hair, which contained a few white threads, was tied with a leather cord at the back of his neck and hung down his back. His skin was dark, a combination of genes and sun, she supposed. While not handsome—his mouth was too thin and his nose too strong—he
was
attractive, in a beware-I-am-a-wolf-and-I’d-like-to-eat-you sort of way.

“Are your classes over?” she asked casually, and stepped behind the desk, which provided a little bit of cover, at least up to her thighs. She thought about sitting down, but she was afraid something might rip.

“Yep. Semester ended yesterday. I submitted grades last night.”

“Will you be teaching this summer?”
Oh, God! I feel as if I’m bare naked, and I’m standing here chitchatting. Is this a woman’s worst nightmare, or what?

He shook his head. “I’m free till August. After the Pink Project, I’m going to explore the
Titanic
again with a group of advanced divers.”

“No kidding! Gee, I’d imagine the
Titanic
has pretty well been explored to death by this time.”
More chitchat. Why won’t he just go away?

“Actually, it’s not. Most people don’t realize that artifacts are still being recovered from the
Titanic,
even after all these years and despite that goofball movie.” He was walking around the office, looking at the pictures on the walls.

Veronica felt a bit more comfortable with his back to her. She had already learned that serious divers and students of wreck history despised the portrayal in the James Cameron movie. Adam apparently shared that sentiment. “What made you decide to join the Pink Project? Surely there are more historically important expeditions.”

“Frank.” He turned to look at her as he spoke.

“My grandfather? You’re doing this because of my grandfather? Not because of the treasure involved?”

Adam smiled at the disbelief in her voice. “Frank Jinkowsky is a legend. One of the best treasure hunters in the business, better even than Mel Fisher. Most divers, myself included, consider it a privilege to work with him.”

“I had no idea,” she admitted. “I guess, being an outsider, I never saw him that way.” That sounded dumb even to her own ears. How could a family member be called an outsider?

He stared at her for several moments, then asked, “Would you like to have dinner tonight?”

“Me?”
Could I sound any more dorky?

Adam winked at her. “Yeah, you. What do you say?”

Veronica could see the interest in his eyes, especially when they perused her from face to toes, then back up again.
He likes what he sees. Holy moly! A sexy, eligible man finds me attractive. Oh. Is he eligible?
Her eyes shot to his left hand. Okay. No ring.

He saw where she had glanced and laughed. “No, I’m not married.”

“Ever been?”

He shook his head. “Almost. Once.”

“Sure. I’d love to have dinner with you,” she said before she could bite her tongue. “I’m staying at the Starlight Motel. What time should we meet?”

“Hey, I’m staying at the Starlight, too.”

She might be rusty at dating, and she’d never been that good at understanding men (otherwise, she wouldn’t have been married and divorced four times), but she knew exactly what was on this man’s mind.

Oh, boy! He’s thinking more than dinner now. I can tell. Maybe that was his agenda all along. Can I handle that? Yes. I’ve got to handle that, if I’m going to change my life. Jake’s not here. He’s apparently gone on with his life. I need to do the same.
“Eight o’clock, then?”

“Great! We’ll go to Dirty Doug’s, unless you object. It’s a local bar that serves great grilled oysters and good music.”

“Dirty Doug’s, huh?”
My grandmother would choke if she knew I was going to a place with that name,
she thought.
Good!
“I take it casual attire would be appropriate?”
Body armor and a chastity belt come to mind.

“Yep. See you about eight, then. I’ll come to your room?” His eyes arched in question.

“No, I’ll meet you there,” she replied quickly. “I have a little . . . uh, shopping to do first . . . on the way . . . at Wal-Mart.”

He wasn’t buying her hedging at all. Still, he nodded his agreement. But, just before he left to return to diving practice, he turned and said, “By the way, Ronnie, you look hot in diving gear.”

Veronica smiled for the next five minutes, relishing his compliment. But then the usual reservations set in.

What am I doing?

Getting on with my life.

But . . . am I ready for a new relationship?

More than ready.

I don’t know how to act around anyone but Jake.

Learn.

But what if . . . ?

Stop questioning every little thing. Go with the flow. Relax.

Relax? Hah! I’m so nervous even my toes are shaking. What if he wants to have sex? Who am I kidding? He wants sex, all right.

Why am I making rash judgments about the man? Where did the sex idea come from?

My libido, of course. My rusty libido.

When was the last time?

One year since a date. Two years since sex.

Am I pathetic, or what?

Jake wasn’t the only man Veronica had slept with, but she could count them on one hand. There was an expression, “Once burned, twice shy.” Well, she’d been burned four times, and
shy
didn’t begin to define her hesitation to be involved with men.

But, son of a gun, I’m going on a date.

I better shave my legs.

No, no, no! It’s just a date. No sex. Just a friendly dinner with a nice man.

Ha, ha, ha!

Then her traitorous thoughts turned once again to Jake. She shouldn’t feel guilty about dating other men—even having sex with other men. But she did. Would Adam be the one to help her finally put Jake in her past? A fling, that’s what it would be. Nothing serious. Her heart simultaneously wept and rejoiced at the possibility. It was for the best. She knew that. Her heart didn’t, but it would . . . in time.

Brenda walked in then, gave her a head-to-toe survey, and said, “Girl, you’ve got more nerve than I do.”

They both burst out laughing. And continued to laugh while they struggled to get Veronica out of the tight garment. She was covered with sweat by the time they finished, and sweat acted like glue in a rubber suit.

“I need to buy some food supplies for the trip,” Brenda said over a cup of coffee that Veronica had brewed on the ancient coffeemaker. She planned to buy a new one before she came in tomorrow morning. “Can you give me some cash or a card?”

“How much do you need?”

“Hmmm. We’ll be out at least a week. I figure at least five men—Frank, Adam, Caleb, John, and Steve or Tony—and three women, if Flossie comes along. She told me she might, just for the fun of it. How about five hundred? There’s a pretty good-sized freezer on board, and I already have lots of canned goods.”

Veronica did a quick calculation and decided there would be enough in the business checking account to cover that amount. She handed her the Jinx, Inc., debit card, then asked, “Did you get the motor fixed?”

“Nope. I sent Frank into Manahawkin to get some parts. Looks like we might not be able to head out till Wednesday.”

“Is it safe? I mean, will it be safe to go out on the ocean with a patched-up motor?”

“Oh, it’ll be safe enough. Worst thing that could happen is the motor won’t turn over and we’ll have to call the Coast Guard for a tow. Of course, that would be disastrous in terms of keeping the site secret. Every deep-sea treasure-hunting boat on the East Coast tuned in to the Coast Guard radio will head there then like a swarm of sharks.”

“How much would a new motor cost?”

“For a boat that size, I’m thinking ten thousand or more. I haven’t priced them lately.”

Out of the question, then, Veronica decided. With Frank’s reduced circumstances, she couldn’t see any way to manage that kind of money. Besides, she still needed to ask Frank how he planned to pay all these people—or if he planned on paying them at all. Maybe they just got a share of the profits.

All these people.
A thought niggled at Veronica. Then she knew what was bothering her. “You said three women. I sure hope you mean Rosa is going along. And not—”

Brenda grinned. “Yep, you.”

“Oh, no!”

“Frank said you’d be going, that he needed you.”

“For what?”

“Computer work. Deckhand. Assistant diver.”

“I do not know how to dive.”

“No problem. You cook, and I can help dive. Maybe I could lose a few more pounds that way.” Brenda was a medium-height blonde, about five-six. She was not overweight, but by the standards set by women’s magazines, she could lose ten to fifteen pounds. As a result, Brenda, like many women over thirty, was always on a diet.

“I don’t know how to cook very well, either,” Veronica said. “Certainly not for a group that size.”

“Make sandwiches. They won’t be fussy.”

“I am
not
going out on a boat,” Veronica emphasized, “and definitely not for five days.”
I wouldn’t be able to carry enough Pepto or Dramamine to last that long.

“We’ll see,” Brenda said with a laugh. “Frank can be persuasive.”

Yeah, like a sledgehammer.
Time to change the subject. “Are you married, Brenda?”

Immediately, Brenda stiffened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

“No problem,” she said, relaxing her shoulders. “I’m divorced. Three years now. And I’m still healing the wounds.”

Veronica knew how that felt. “Do you see him . . . ever?” Of course, Veronica would ask such a dumb question, with her history.

“Not if I can help it. Lance Caslow was the husband from hell.”

“Lance Caslow? The race car driver?” Veronica wasn’t a NASCAR fan, but even she recognized that name.

“None other. Have you ever met any race car drivers?”

Veronica shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

“Aside from being miserably moody when on a losing streak, Lance doesn’t understand the word
fidelity.
I suspect he’s nailed every groupie within a five-mile radius of every racetrack in America.”

“Nice guy!”

“Hey, his favorite expression is, ‘NASCAR drivers know how to jump-start a car—and a woman.’”

“Modest, too.”

“Drivers are the most narcissistic men in the universe. They think their dirty underwear ought to be bronzed. Do you know, Lance once made me give him a blow job while in his car going a hundred twenty miles per hour?”

Veronica’s eyes widened at that image.

“Defies believability, doesn’t it?” Brenda said with a laugh. “And he didn’t even reciprocate. Not that I would have wanted him to, especially not in a car. Well, anywhere for that matter. He was a lousy lover, or at least that’s what I like to tell people. Plus, he has a needle dick. I tell everyone that, too, just to annoy him.” She grinned impishly.