Shell Game (3 page)

When the hell had
The
Love Boat
become
Everyone Loves Raymond
?

At least Conway had good taste and had booked a cabin with a balcony. And, from the looks of it, the sound of the ocean at night through the open sliding door might be the only comfort Luke would get on this cruise.

“Excuse me.” A short, slight woman—old enough to be his grandmother, or at least his mom’s big sister—stood holding a soft ice cream cone in each hand. “Have you seen my granddaughter? She was here just a moment ago.”

“What does she look like?”

“Pretty thing. Has on a blue sundress. I told her I’d be right back. I don’t want to miss the launch party poolside. Will you be going?”

That was the plan. He’d been checking out the facilities—and the women, or lack thereof—on his way to the upper deck.

“Oh, excuse me.” A tall redhead with boobs up to her neck almost tripped over the old lady dripping ice cream at his side. “So sorry.”

It took Luke all of two seconds to assess the boob job and a rock the size of Gibraltar on her left-hand ring finger before she took off. Some slightly over-the-hill banker had probably paid for the ring—and the boobs.

“You’re good.” The silver-haired woman smiled up at him. “I’m impressed.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Your eyes barely moved. How long did it take you? Three seconds? Maybe two?”

The old bird was on the ball. He wouldn’t have expected a woman of her age to be so observant. “Two,” he answered.

“Any idea how many carats she was flashing?”

“No, ma’am.”

The woman’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

He had a feeling she wasn’t looking for information so much as testing him. If she needed advice on a jewelry purchase, she was asking the wrong guy. Now, the boob job? Definitely a double D. Thirty-six.

* * *

Less than one hour on the boat and already Sharla had lost her grandmother. When Sharla had envisioned the inside of a cruise ship, she’d drawn upon images from reruns of
The
Love Boat
. Five smiling crew members greeting a handful of passengers strolling through a pretty lobby. Nowhere had she imagined four thousand people on a floating city. Since only two of the ten interior decks crossed the ship, like a freeway in rush hour, they were the paths most of those four thousand people used to get back and forth. She might have to put her grandmother on a damn leash to keep track of her.

According to the daily program they’d found in their cabin, the band would be playing poolside at 5:00 p.m. this afternoon while the ship set sail. Nana had mentioned wanting to be there, so Sharla jabbed the Up button for the elevator. If she couldn’t find her grandmother on this deck, maybe she would find her poolside. Waiting for one of four elevators, she glanced at the heavyset man in a motorized wheelchair with his smiling chubby wife—and turned toward the stairs. Use it or lose it.

Too many of her other parts weren’t being used since Danny died, but she could still use her legs. And if she wanted to continue to see her toes in her old age when she looked down, she should make climbing the stairs a habit at the hospital too. The moment Sharla stepped through the sliding doors onto the eleventh-floor deck, the out-of-place sounds of a steel drum calypso band wafted over her. With every step she felt lighter. Freer. Ready to conquer new worlds.

“I ate your ice cream.”

Out of the throngs of people following the Caribbean sounds like the Pied Piper, Nana appeared almost magically in front of her.

“It was delicious.”

Ice Cream?
“What ice cream?”

“I told you to wait a moment while I detoured to the ice cream machine. Maybe you’re the one who needs hearing aids.”

And wasn’t that another bone of contention? Did she or didn’t she? Only her hairdresser—and granddaughter—knew for sure. Though every so often Sharla wondered if the problem was one of selective hearing. Danny had that problem. He could hear a mouse eating cheese in the other room, but, during a football game, Sharla could have used a bullhorn, and he wouldn’t hear a word she’d said until the commercial. She had yet to decide which was the case with Sophia Garibaldi.

Her grandmother slipped through the crowds with nimble ease and leaned against the rail. “I met a nice man while I was looking for you.”

This same tired tune Nana kept singing was getting old. “I don’t need a nice man.”

“Yes, you do, but, as it happens, I wasn’t thinking of you. Herbie is a bit too experienced for a young thing like you.”

There was no way Sharla was letting her mind think about how much experience Herbie or her grandmother might have—at anything.

“You know”—her grandmother kept her gaze on the skyline—“it wouldn’t hurt you to have a little fun too.”

“I thought you already decided Herbie was too mature for me.” Sharla bit back a smile. A chance to tease Nana was irresistible.

“This is a big boat. There has to be at least one fun-worthy young man for you to pass the time with. We are going to be on this ship for almost two weeks.”

“I have a month’s worth of reading to catch up on. I’ll be spending my spare time getting friendly with a deck lounge chair.”

“If I were you, I’d rather get friendly with the fellow I bumped into on the promenade deck.”

“I doubt his wife would appreciate it.” The majority of passengers seemed to already be paired off and, not surprisingly during the school year, fell into one of a few categories—retirees, newlyweds or younger couples with small children.

“Not married.” Sophia continued to stare ahead.

From the age of five, Sophia Garibaldi had been trained to pick the mark. Even as little as ten years ago, Sharla wouldn’t have questioned her grandmother’s assessment, but, now at age seventy-five, Nana’s conclusions were more likely just wishful thinking.

“You doubt me?” This time Sophia turned to her granddaughter. “No ring, no tan lines, no bulge from home cooking, no settled-down man flab. As a matter of fact, with abs like his, he’s either a bodybuilder or military. But the way he sized up the bimbo redhead in two seconds, I’m saying military. Single, well-trained military.”

Great
. First day on the cruise and not only was her grandmother already on a matchmaking mission but the woman was picking out a serviceman. Sharla had done that already. Danny had been an MP in the army and, after his four years, had joined the police force. Three years ago his luck ran out in a dark alley with a junkie too strung out to shoot straight, and yet the crackhead still managed to get off a fatal shot.

Next time Sharla walked down the aisle, if she ever did marry again, her new husband was going to have a nice safe career. A teacher. Or baker. Maybe a plumber or dry cleaner. But no policeman, no fireman and absolutely no military man.

* * *

The departure fanfare had been about as expected. Plenty of loud music and a crush of people hanging over the rail or already sprawled out in poolside lounge chairs. Before the ship had even left port, half the passengers had stripped down to swimsuits and staked a claim on their piece of deckside landscape.

It hadn’t taken Luke long to decide not to eat in the dining room this evening. Conway and his wife had booked a private table for two there, which meant Luke would have been eating alone. Something he’d anticipated rectifying quickly but wasn’t so sure anymore. The few eye-catching women he’d wandered past today all wore rocks the size of Manhattan on their left hands. A gaggle of giggling teens had sauntered by, stopping to give him that “holy hotness” look women in foreign ports so often flashed at the sailors with American accents. Some of the girls would no doubt grow into jaw-dropping knockouts, just not before the end of this cruise.

The ship touted some nightspots. After a quick supper he sat a while at the sports bar. Even if many of the men were collecting a pension, sports were sports. He could talk baseball with anyone, as long as they were Yankee fans. Or willing to convert.

By midnight he’d had enough scotch and ESPN. A handful of guys his age stuck around after their wives had turned in for the night, but so far Luke had found no comrade in arms in search of a good time. The club he’d scoped out shortly after departure held a great deal of promise if it were anyplace other than senior citizen-ville. It was dark, with secluded booths, soft music and—despite the barfworthy Middle Ages decor of triangles and armored suits—the place had great potential for a romantic end to a night.

The problem remained one of passenger demographics. At midnight two couples sat intertwined in secluded booths. And less than a handful of women huddled in pairs along the bar. While old enough to avoid jailbait, but not yet old enough to drink, these girls were most definitely too young for him.

It looked like Conway was going to get his wish. Whether Luke liked it or not, he was going to get plenty of rest on this blasted tin can.

Chapter Three

Vacation or not, an early morning workout was pivotal to staying mission-ready. Even for the spooks. And while Luke had expected anyplace named the Shipshape Center to be dolled up for all the vacationing fitness lovers—determined to exercise off the constant flow of food and ten pounds of daily desserts—he hadn’t expected a damn Greek sonnet. Artificial stone pillars supporting a pergola covered in twines of fake ivy in the entryway was almost enough to turn him on his heel and take him back to his room. Or maybe he could simply jump overboard and swim to shore.

“How ya goin’?”

Luke blinked. Interesting juxtaposition. Greco-Roman trappings and now an Aussie accent.

“Ya okay? Need some help, mate?”

“Thought I’d get in a little workout this morning.”

“Goodo. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Luke dragged his gaze past the architectural nightmare before him to the equipment fanned about the room. At the front of the ship the majority of the treadmills faced the ocean expanse. Not a bad place to run ten miles, though he’d prefer the beach. Soft sand was the best for keeping fit. Especially at his age. Soon he’d be given a desk and a
thank you very much
. Pulled off the field and relegated to merely pushing paper. Not something he cared to dwell on.

If he couldn’t run on the beach, at least he could watch the ocean. The phone in his pocket set to the mood music he and the guys used for parties—favorites like John Meyer, Kenny Chesney and Jimmy Buffet—he stepped onto the center machine. Legs splayed on either side of the belt, he hit Quick Start, set the speed, increased the incline and hopped onto the rolling tread. At this easy pace he could run all day, but the display screen would let him know when he’d hit ten miles.

Almost an hour later Luke moved on to heavy weights, surprised to see the place filling up. From the way some of the women used the machinery, he could tell these were no cruise ship fitness newbies. And considering some were likely old enough to be his mother, they were in damn good shape.

“Here ya go now.” The Aussie personal trainer stepped across the weights area with a rather attractive-looking blonde beside him.

A quick review noted she wasn’t wearing a ring, but few people wore jewelry for working out.

The young trainer rolled out an exercise ball, leaned back on it and—with his knees bent, feet forward and shoulders resting on the large globe—demonstrated lifting three-pound dumbbells in each hand up in the air and back down to his chest. With each rep, as the man held his hips horizontal to the ground and balanced with only his shoulders on the ball, the pretty blonde’s eyes grew larger and larger.

Apparently Luke had found his cruise ship exercise newbie.

Focused back on his own routine, Luke only sporadically glanced at the woman going through her first weight training session. He could hear the Aussie’s gentle encouragement. The guy was good. Knew his stuff. But a drill sergeant he’d never be. Way too nice and patient.

With every lift of his heavy barbells, Luke wondered what was her story. The ship hadn’t been at sea long enough for the blonde to worry about putting on the pounds. And, what little he saw of her curves, they seemed to be in all the right places. Maybe she could see the signs of her moneybags husband getting ready to move on to the next trophy wife. Luke cast a quick casual glance in her direction again. Definitely did not have that strictly arm-candy look about her. If anything she looked capable of making commercials for Dove soap or Ivory Snow. There was more to having a wholesome image than simply not wearing makeup. This woman had wholesome written all over her.

Another rep and the trainer called enough, moving his client out of the weights area and across the fitness center out of view. Too bad. By the time Luke finished, the blonde was nowhere to be seen.

Two steps into the hall, Luke almost plowed over the same little old lady he’d run into the day before with the ice creams. “Lost your granddaughter again?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She shook her head. “She was supposed to join me for morning trivia and never showed.”

“Trivia?”

“You any good at it? We could use some younger input. Best teams always have an age mix. I’ve got down the stuff of ancient history books. If Sharla comes, she’s good at science, but she’s not likely to have any idea what color shirt is worn by the leader in the Tour de France.”