Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise (11 page)

“Congratulations!” she managed to say, with a stunned smile.

“Yes, congratulations,” Robbie echoed. He, too, looked like he’d just been bopped with a baseball bat.

Kyle and Nesbitt, unable or unwilling to comment, remained etched in granite.

“Show them your cuff links, Gray.”

Graham shot the French cuffs on his shirt, displaying a set of dazzling diamond-studded cuff links.

“An engagement present from your aunt,” he said, with a smug smile.

“They were so lovely,” Emily said, “I couldn’t resist.

“Look at the time!” she said, jumping up. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll just go to the powder room, and then we’ll head off to dinner!”

She trotted off to her bathroom, blissfully unaware of the hostility crackling around her.

The minute she was gone, Kyle slammed down his martini glass and hissed at Graham, “I knew you were trouble from the get-go, mister. But you won’t get away with it. You hear me? You won’t get away with it.”

I, for one, would not want to be staring into his face, now purple with rage. But Graham did not seem the least bit perturbed.

“Try and stop me,” he said airily.

“Believe me, I will. No matter what it takes.”

“Lots of luck. But I doubt anything will stop Emily from marrying me,” Graham said, buffing his new cuff links on the arm of his blazer. “She’s in love, don’t you know? Oh, and by the way, once we tie the knot, Kyle, you won’t ever get your hands on her money again. So you’d better kiss your Town & Country lifestyle good-bye.

“And you, Ms. Frostbite,” he said, nodding to Ms. Nesbitt, “you’d better start checking the want ads. I have a feeling Emily won’t be needing your services anymore.”

“That’s what you think, you gold-digging bastard,” Nesbitt hissed. The woman was
thisclose
to garroting him with her support hose.

But all further threats and counterthreats were stifled as Emily came out of the bathroom.

“Is everybody ready?” she asked.

For dinner? Not so much.

For thermonuclear war? You betcha.

How awkward was dinner? Let’s just say it made
Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf
look like an episode of
The Waltons
. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a steak knife, an implement I was once again denied due to my second-class citizenship.

But for a change I wasn’t thinking about food. (Not much, anyway. My scalloped potatoes were to die for.)

I had to tell Emily the truth about Graham and Cookie. But how? I couldn’t very well say,
Please pass the salt, and by the way, your cheating bum of a fiancé already has another tootsie waiting in the wings
. Somehow I’d have to think of a way to get her alone.

When dinner finally staggered to a close, Emily insisted we see the headlining act in the ship’s Grand Showroom, a magician called The Great Branzini.

“I just love magicians,” she exclaimed. “And this Branzini fellow is supposed to be the toast of Las Vegas.”

As much as I wanted to take a break from my dysfunctional dinner companions, I agreed to go, hoping I’d be able to wrench Emily away from Graham and tell her the truth about her intended. Who, incidentally, looked none too happy at the prospect of my company. The last thing Graham wanted was me hanging around. I knew too much. Way too much. And thanks to my eavesdropping, I was an earwitness to what some folks might consider a proposal of marriage.

Minutes later we were all trooping over to our seats in the Grand Showroom.

Kyle sat at the far end of our group, as far as possible from Graham; Maggie sat next to him, followed by Nesbitt, and then the lovebirds.

“You go first,” Robbie said, waving me ahead when the two of us were left standing in the aisle. Either he was being gallant or he, too, was unwilling to sit next to his aunt’s betrothed.

I plopped down in the hot seat next to Graham, Robbie on my other side. Graham barely acknowledged my existence, too busy whispering sweet nothings to Emily. The rest of us sat in stony silence as we waited for the curtain to go up.

I tried making conversation with Robbie, but he answered in monosyllabic grunts. Throughout dinner, he’d been distracted, looking at his aunt with worry in his eyes. And frankly, I couldn’t blame him. There was trouble in Pritchard City, no doubt about it.

Having given up on Robbie, my mind wandered to my nightly pit stop at the buffet. I was debating between chocolate chip cookies and brownies—brownies had a slight edge—when suddenly I heard a woman shrieking:

“You miserable sonofabitch!”

I turned to see Cookie storming down the aisle in one of her spangly show gowns.

She screeched to a halt at our row.

“I just heard the news,” she spat at Graham. “You’re marrying
her?
”

She eyed Emily in disbelief.

“Yes, Cookie,” Graham replied, cool as a cucumber. If the opposite of nonplussed was plussed, he was plussed to the max. “Emily and I have decided to tie the knot.”

“But you can’t marry her!” Cookie wailed. “You’re engaged to me!

“He’s engaged to me!” she repeated to Emily. “I swear. He gave me half a heart.” She lifted her pendant and showed it to Emily and everybody else in the Grand Showroom. “He promised he’d marry me!”

By now, two security guards had descended on her.

“Leave me alone,” she said, swatting at them. But these guys were as big as refrigerators. They hoisted her by the elbows and began hauling her back up the aisle.

“You miserable sonofabitch!” she screamed at Graham as they carted her away. “You don’t deserve to live!”

A buzz of excited chatter filled the air in the wake of her exit, everyone yapping about the dramatic scene they’d just witnessed.

The Great Branzini sure had a tough act to follow.

“I knew all along your precious Graham was no good!” Kyle crowed. “The man is a con artist, Aunt Emily!”

“He’s just out for your money!” Nesbitt chimed in.

Emily turned to Graham and looked at him questioningly, her face pale.

But he didn’t miss a beat.

“You mustn’t believe Cookie,” he said, smooth as silk. “She’s mentally unbalanced; anyone can see that. We’re not engaged. Never were. We’re just good friends, that’s all. Everything else is all in her imagination.”

Okay, I could sit through this claptrap no longer. Time to speak up.

“That’s not true, Emily,” I protested. “Graham
is
engaged to Cookie. I heard him tell her he’d buy her a wedding ring.”

Graham whirled on me, his gray eyes cold as steel.

“I don’t know what you think you heard, Jaine, but I never proposed to Cookie. She and I are just good friends.”

“Emily,” I said, “I swear I heard—”

Emily held up her hand to stop me.

“No more, Jaine. I’m sure you must be mistaken. If Graham says he didn’t ask Cookie to marry him, I believe him.”

She gazed up at him and smiled serenely.

And at that moment, I realized Emily knew exactly what she was getting into. She knew Graham was a gold digger, and she didn’t care. She’d tossed her good sense out the window and put her heart and money on the line.

Just another hapless victim in the game of love.

YOU’VE GOT MAIL

To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: A Perfect Match!

Well, lambchop, your old Daddy did it again!

I just finished painting over that spot on your wall, and if I do say so myself, I did a terrific job. It was a perfect match. You’d never know there was ever a scuff mark!

Love and hugs,

Daddy

To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: What a Klutz!

Oh, Lord. Your father has gone and done it again!

I knew I should’ve never let him paint that scuff mark. Not only does the paint clash with the color on your wall, but now he’s gone and spattered some of it on your beautiful hardwood floor! What a klutz!

Sorry I can’t write more now. Lance is coming for dinner and I’ve got to check my pot roast.

Love from,

Your frazzled Mom

To: Jaineausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: One Tiny Problem

Hi, Lambchop—

I forgot to mention a tiny problem that cropped up when I painted that spot on your wall. A bit of the paint spattered onto your hardwood floor. But I’ll just get it off with some paint remover, easy-sneezy, no problemo.

By the way, did your mom tell you she invited Lance over for dinner tonight? Such a production! You’d think the Pope was coming. All I can say is it’s a good thing I’ve got my trusty pipe to relax with.

XOXO,

Daddy

To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: PS from Mom

PS. When was the last time you cooked a meal in your oven, sweetheart? When I opened it to put in the roast, I found an umbrella.

Chapter 10

I
was jarred awake the next morning by a commotion next door in Cookie’s cabin. I did not need to put my ear to the wall to hear footsteps stomping, drawers slamming, and Cookie shouting, “I swear I don’t have them!”

Then the cabin door banged shut and all was quiet. Except for the faint sounds of Cookie sobbing. Oh, dear. Something was obviously very wrong.

I needed to find out what I could do to help. But first I had to tend to Prozac, who had assumed her morning position on my chest, clawing me for her breakfast.

I staggered out of bed to get her some roast beef I’d had the foresight to pick up last night at the buffet bar. I’d stored it in the cabin’s mini-fridge, along with the $6 Cokes and $20 half bottles of wine. (Apparently beverages were not included in my free cruise, a happy tidbit of info I was not to discover until checkout time.)

“Here you go, Pro,” I said, putting the meat down in front of her.

She sniffed at it dismissively.

I don’t do leftovers.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Pro, you’ll eat it and like it.”

It was about time I laid down the law with that cat.

Ignoring the death ray looks she was shooting me, I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. After which I grabbed the Holiday Cruise Lines robe in my closet (only $95, should I choose to keep it), threw it on over my
I
My Cat
nightshirt, and headed for the door.

Prozac, who was once more sniffing the roast beef, tried to make me feel guilty with one of her Starving Orphan looks.

If you really hearted your cat, you’d be getting me fresh-baked ham from the buffet bar.

“For once, just do me a favor and cooperate.”

And what do you know? After a beat of hesitation, the little devil actually started eating.

Grateful for small miracles, I scooted next door to Cookie’s cabin. She came to the door, ashen faced, her eyes rimmed with mascara she hadn’t bothered to wash off.

“Cookie, what’s going on?”

She ushered me inside and sank down onto her bed.

“Graham’s dead,” she said, her eyes glazed with disbelief. “Murdered. Stabbed in the heart with an ice pick.”

Omigod. So that’s what happened to Anton’s missing ice picks.

“They found his body early this morning out on the Lido Deck, the ice pick still in his heart. They think I did it. The security guys were here just now searching my cabin for some cuff links the old lady gave him. They think whoever killed him stole the cuff links, too.”

Tears began streaming down her cheeks.

“They’re going to arrest me, Jaine. I’m sure of it.”

“Can they do that without the police?”

She nodded wearily.

“On board ship, the captain makes the laws. They can do anything they want.”

“But they don’t have any evidence.”

“Are you kidding? Three hundred people in the Grand Showroom heard me telling Graham he didn’t deserve to live.”

“That’s not nearly enough to convict you in a court of law.”

“But that’s not all, Jaine.” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “I was at the scene of the crime.”

Ouch.

“Graham called me about one in the morning and begged me to meet him out on deck. And like an idiot, I went. He said that hooking up with Emily was the opportunity of a lifetime and that he couldn’t afford to pass up the money. He said it wouldn’t be long till she kicked the bucket and he inherited her money. After that, he promised, we’d get married. In the meanwhile, he wanted to see me on the side. Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Expecting me to hang around waiting for the poor old biddy to die?”