Spooning Daisy (8 page)

Two uniformed men, one older and relaxed, one younger and intense, arrived at the office.

“Sorry for the delay.” The older man introduced himself as Chief Security Officer Stone and his taller assistant as Deputy SO Keller. “We had something come off the wire as we were leaving. Now”—he addressed Daisy—“you were robbed?”

“Yes! And I know who did it. If we hurry, we can catch him in the cafeteria making tomato soup!”

“Tomato soup?” Stone questioned.

“Or maybe not,” Daisy reconsidered aloud, oblivious to Stone. “He’s probably eating in the dining room with
my money
!”

“If we could take this one step at a time, Ms.—?”

“Moon,” the purser interjected.

“Daisy Moon,” Daisy confirmed. “And we have to hurry or he’ll spend all my money out of spite. He might even throw it overboard!”

“I know this is very upsetting, Ms. Moon, but we need more information. Start at the beginning. When did you discover the robbery? Did you see the man—”

“His name is Max Kendall,” Daisy interrupted. “And I didn’t need to see him to know he stole my money and credit cards!”

The two men exchanged glances. “You
know
the man who robbed you?”

“Yes! Well, not exactly. Kind of. In an odd sort of way.”

Stone took a deep breath while Keller pulled out a pad and pen from his shirt pocket. “Please, sit down, Ms. Moon,” Stone requested. “I’ll have Purser Smith check the passenger list for a Max Kendall.” The grandmotherly woman moved to her computer screen. “Now, Ms. Moon, take a deep breath and start at the beginning.”

Daisy sat down on the vinyl sofa, took a deep breath, and started from the beginning. The
very
beginning, from when she first met Max and his mother at her garage sale, then detailing her date with Max and his subsequent lawsuit, before moving on to his surprise appearance on the ship and finally ending with the theft of her wallet and the cash which had been tucked inside her shoe—“a leather basket-weave in matte gold.” She even mentioned Otter Bite and her new job at Wild Man Lodge so they would understand why she was on the ferry in the first place. When she was done, the two men shared an uneasy look.

“I think he’s stalking me,” Daisy finally suggested.

“It’s certainly coincidental,” Stone said ambiguously. “And you’re positive the man you saw this morning is the same man from your garage sale?”

“Chief?” the purser interrupted. “I found Max Kendall on the passenger list. No cabin. But he’s on a wait list. I remember him now,” she added, intimating just how memorable she thought Max was. “He’s in a full leg splint and those lounge chairs are pretty hard on him.”

“Told you,” Daisy said, ignoring the purser’s sympathy for an undeserving thief.

“But there’s no Adam Bricker,” the purser added. “
Anywhere
.”

“Adam Bricker?” Stone asked with suspicious eyes.

“Yes. He’s a friend of Ms. Moon’s. They had dinner last night.”

“He’s not my
friend
,” Daisy countered. “I mean, he
is
my friend, but
first
he’s the medical officer. I can’t believe you people don’t know your own crew.”

Stone and Keller quirked their heads in unison as if they shared the same light bulb.

“Believe me, Ms. Moon, we do know our crew,” Stone informed her. “Now tell me about this Adam Bricker.”

Picking up the ominous tone in the chief’s voice, Daisy looked first at Stone and then at Keller. She started to speak when a figure in the doorway caught her attention. Her eyes widened and her right hand flew into a point. “Oh my God! That’s him. Right there! That’s
him
!”

All eyes shot to the doorway and lighted on the dark-haired man with stubbled cheeks and a mix of dread and disbelief on his face.

Stone mustered an imposing stance. “Are you Adam Bricker?”

“No!” Daisy squawked. “He’s Max Kendall—the man who stole my money!”

Fifteen minutes later, Daisy stared at a fax with a fuzzy photo of Myron Porter, aka Dr. Adam Bricker, aka Captain Merrill Stubing, and aka Julie McCoy.

“Julie McCoy?” Daisy asked incredulously. Apparently, women were not Myron’s only victims—whom he typically drugged with sleeping pills so he could safely rob their cabins.

Stone shrugged. “In this work, after a while you see everything. So, Ms. Moon, is that the man you had dinner with last night?”

Daisy returned the page to Stone. “I think so. Damn.” An officer, a gentleman,
and
a cross-dressing felon.

“All we can do is alert the Canadian officials and hope they find him. At least he left your passport and travel documents. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope for recovering your money or finding your Lexus anytime soon.”

Tears welled in Daisy’s eyes. “But he was wearing a uniform.” Her lower lip quivered. “And he knew what the M/V stands for in front of
Columbia
,” as if that made her trust in a stranger seem doubly reasonable.

“I’m afraid, Ms. Moon, it’s not a maritime secret that M/V stands for motor vessel
.
”

“Motor vessel?” she squeaked.

Max Kendall turned away from the pitiful sight. “Can I go now?”

“Not so fast,” Keller said, obviously sympathetic to Daisy.

“What Deputy SO Keller means is—”

Max held up a palm to halt further explanation. From his wallet, he presented his Alaska driver’s license. Stone looked at it and handed it to Keller.

“You won’t be insulted if we verify this?” Keller returned the plastic to Max.

Max stuffed his ID into its slot. “Can I go?”

“Of course, Mr. Kendall,” the security chief told him, shooting a warning glance at Keller. “Sorry for the mix-up. But I’m sure you can understand how Ms. Moon—”

“No,” Max tersely interrupted. “I don’t understand how Ms. Moon does
anything
.” He struggled to rise on one leg from the seat he’d been forced into while defending himself against Daisy’s accusations.

Yes, it was coincidental that he and Daisy were on the same ferry. But the ferry he originally booked—with a cabin—sailed three weeks ago, and three weeks ago he was in the hospital, he’d informed them as Daisy averted her eyes from his accusatory stare. He was on the ferry now because he’d bought a truck in Seattle and was taking that same truck to Alaska, departing the ferry in Haines. He didn’t elaborate on his final destination, figuring the less Daisy knew about his life, the better, and by then Stone seemed satisfied that Max Kendall was just an innocent bystander in Daisy Moon’s mixed-up world.

Why Daisy was on the
Columbia
, Max didn’t know. But he’d stopped himself from asking. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in Daisy’s life. He didn’t care what her latest turmoil was or what tragedy had caused her to flee Seattle. The woman was an albatross.

“What am I going to do?” Daisy asked to no one in particular. “I have no money, no credit cards, no Lex-us,” she lamented, her breath in little hops. “My pots and pans, my knives . . . my
recipes
,” she added, just now realizing what the theft of her Lexus meant.

Max turned a deaf ear to Daisy’s plight; he had troubles of his own.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Moon, we’ll get you back to Bellingham,” Stone assured her. “Tomorrow, when we dock in Ketchikan, we can put you on a ferry going south.”

“But . . . I’m not going to Bellingham.”

“If you continue, what will you do when we reach Haines?” Stone asked. “You’ll be stranded. We arrive Saturday and the banks will be closed. Even if money is wired to you, you won’t get it until Monday morning. Where would you stay the weekend? You have no vehicle, no way to keep going—”

Daisy’s gasps grew stronger and louder as she tried to keep her tears in check. She’d been so certain of Max Kendall’s guilt that she’d overlooked her missing keys. If only she’d checked her purse earlier. If only Max hadn’t been on this ship. If only, if only . . .

“—You must go back to Bellingham,” Stone insisted. “If you choose to continue, we can’t be responsible.”

Daisy buried her face in her palms.

Max glanced in her direction, shook off his sympathy. Trying to skirt Daisy’s disaster, he hobbled toward the door, unaccustomed to the burdensome splint immobilizing his knee.

Stone put a hand on Daisy’s shoulder. “At home, it will be easier to put in your insurance claims and get new credit cards. That’s hard to do at sea.”

Daisy inched her eyes above her fingers. “But my job . . .”

“I’m sure your employer will understand. In the meantime, Ms. Moon, Purser Smith will accompany you to sick bay for something to help calm you.”

“I . . . I would rather just go to my cabin. At least I still have that.”

Cabin?
Max stopped outside the door. Of course, she had a cabin. The woman was a nitpicking control freak. She’d probably booked passage a year ago. Too bad she wasn’t as particular about the men she dated—present company excluded. Max peeked around the jamb, instantly regretting it.
God
, was Daisy pathetic, with her eyes puffed and her face splotchy and her nose shiny red like his new pickup. And hair falling this way and that. But she did have a cabin. Which meant she had a bathroom and a shower and—thank his lucky stars—a bed.

He didn’t know how, Max decided, peg-legging like a pirate down the corridor, but by hook or by crook, he was getting into Daisy Moon’s bed.

Chapter Nine

W
hat now?
Daisy wondered at the persistent knocking. She dragged herself off the bed and opened the door. “Oh, great.”

Max held up two plump white paper bags and cocked his head. “Is that a black eye?” he asked of the mottled shadow beneath her right eye.

Daisy looked at the bags, then at Max. “Yes. And . . . ?” She shot a questioning glance to the bags.

His brow furrowed. “From . . .
that night
?”

“Yes,
and
. . . ?”

“I brought lunch.”

Daisy’s green eyes brightened, then quickly narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I’m a decent guy.”

“Yeah. That explains the lawsuit.”

“That’s business.”

“It feels personal.”

“Do you want the food or not?”

Daisy hesitated. It was either swallow her pride or swallow Elizabeth’s dog food. She took the bags. “Thank you,” she grumbled.

“You’re welcome.”

“Anything else?” she asked when Max remained.

“I thought maybe I’d join you. Unless you have another date. Jack the Ripper?”

Daisy clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes into venomous slits. “After my date with you,
anyone
would be an improvement.”

“That explains Dr. Bricker.”

“As a matter of fact, it does.”

Max huffed. He felt like shutting her up by telling her she looked like she belonged in
Les Misérables
, but he didn’t want the door slammed in his face. “Can I come in, Daisy? Please.” The
please
felt like a root canal.

Daisy huffed right back at him. “Is that really necessary?”

“If I go, the food goes.”

“I guess being a
decent guy
has its limits.”

Max lifted his brows.

“Fine.” Daisy stepped aside.

“It must be hell being you.”

“And what does
that
mean?”

“All that pride, all that self-righteousness . . .” Max nudged her suitcase a few inches, then helped himself to the sofa. With a satisfied moan, he eased into the cushions and relaxed his imprisoned leg.

“I certainly am not—”

“For someone up an ocean without a Lexus you could be a little nicer.”

Daisy clutched the bags of food to her chest. “I
am
nice. I’m
exceedingly
nice. I’m one of the nicest people I know—”

“—And then you’ve got that indignant, Victorian thing going on.”

“Victorian?” Daisy screeched, before deciding better of sparring with Max. Setting the bags on the small vanity, she spread them open one at a time. “I don’t see how you’re in any way qualified to discuss
me
.”

“I have the battle scars, remember?”

She looked squarely into his eyes. “You think
you
have battle scars? Sweetheart, you don’t have a clue.”

Maybe it was the intensity of her expression or the electricity in a pair of eyes that had intrigued him from the start—or maybe it was the sultry, hard-edged, Angelina Jolie way
sweetheart
had flowed across her lips—but whatever combination it was, Max thought he might’ve been trumped. It was a very odd sensation that inconveniently started his blood flowing in the most unexpected place. “I brought turkey sandwiches,” he said, trying to ignore his misbehaving appendage.

“No mustard, I hope.”

Max responded with an expression reminding her of her predicament.

“I can scrape it off.”

“There’s no mustard.” His tone conveyed disbelief in the importance Daisy put on that condiment.

“I don’t like mustard on turkey.”

Not a contrite bone in Daisy Moon’s body! Max turned his attention to the deluxe cabin with its queen bed and adjoining bath. The sunny day spilled through the window, brightening the green walls. The cabin was small by hotel standards, but large enough to accommodate a sofa, vanity, and a chest of drawers, as long as you didn’t plan on doing the tango in between. There was even a small closet with an accordion door where he could stow his gear.
Yep
, Max decided,
this will do just fine
. And right about then he noticed the jar of baby food beside the opened tuna-size can of dog food atop the nightstand.

While Daisy pulled the napkins from the bag, his eyes darted around the room. He stretched toward the bathroom for a peek inside. Seeing nothing obvious to explain the jar or the can, he leaned forward in his seat, inching toward the bed and its skirt to check out what might be lurking beneath.

Sandwich in hand, Daisy turned and discovered Max with his chest pressed against his knees and his chin inches from the floor. “What in the world are you doing?”