Murder for the Halibut Page 7

  Crap!

  Her head snapped up at the same time as Rosie’s, and she saw that the older woman looked as panicked as she herself felt.

  “In there,” she whispered, grabbing two more brownies before following Rosie into the small closet to the left of the two twin beds.

  She pushed the sliding door almost shut at the exact moment that Marsha and Beau walked into view—“walked” being the disputable word in Beau’s case. She wondered how a little thing like Marsha could hold up the entrepreneur’s drunken six-foot frame.

  “Come here, baby,” he slurred.

  Jordan swiveled toward Rosie and mouthed, Sex alert, before Rosie rolled her eyes.

  “In time, love. Make yourself comfortable while I freshen up a bit,” Marsha said in a deep, throaty voice. Her words were followed by a sound that Jordan could only assume came from a wet sloppy kiss.

  “Don’t take too long, you sexy thing. Big Beau is missing you already.”

  No, he did not just refer to himself as Big Beau.

  Jordan clucked her tongue before Rosie shot her a disapproving glare and put her finger to her lips to shush her. For a few seconds the only other sound in the room was the faucet running in the bathroom—until Beau began to snore.

  “The man is such a lover,” Jordan whispered, handing Rosie one of the brownies before opening the other and taking a huge bite. She stopped chewing when she heard Marsha open the bathroom door.

  For a few seconds, she held her breath, thinking Marsha might open the closet for a robe or something. Instead, she turned her back on Beau and stepped away from the bed. With her cell phone to her ear, she began to talk in a hushed tone and asked to speak to Casey. Jordan assumed the chef was still passed out at the lounge.

  Like Beau could hear!

  His obnoxious snoring shook the walls, reminding Jordan of the time she’d gone to a monster truck rally with Victor. The entire crowd had worn earplugs that night.

  “I need you to get down here as fast as you can,” Marsha said into the phone. “We have a problem. Beau’s passed out on my bed, and we have to get him sobered up and back in his room before his wife misses him.”

  There was a pause before Marsha continued. “I told you not to worry about that. Nobody has any idea we were anywhere near the kitchen this afternoon, and unless you open your big mouth, no one will ever know. I made sure of it. Just get down here, so I don’t have to explain this in the morning. That would totally blow our chances of splitting that prize money.”

  For several minutes after Marsha hung up, Jordan and Rosie stood in silence, afraid to move with Marsha so close. As Jordan tried to figure out how they could get out of the closet, she racked her brain for possible excuses why they would be in the closet in the first place. No matter how this night ended, the fact that she’d just overheard Marsha admitting she and Casey had done something in the kitchen before the competition was worth getting caught.

  Deciding to face the consequences and then run straight to Ray to tell him what they’d heard, Jordan pushed the sliding door back and was surprised to find only Beau in the room. He was sprawled sideways across the bed and still snoring like a chainsaw. He could have passed for one of those big trucks himself, maybe even the brother of the famous Grave Digger, one of the more popular trucks on the circuit. She peeked around the corner and realized Marsha had gone back into the bathroom. After racing to the table for one last brownie, she tiptoed past the bathroom door with Rosie following close behind.

  Quickly, she opened the door, and the two of them bolted down the corridor, passing a steward along the way who was carrying a tray with a pot of coffee and several cups. Beau’s wake-up call, no doubt. By the time they made it to their own room, they were laughing out loud, celebrating their good fortune over not being caught by sharing the stolen brownie.

  “Mmm. These could be my new solution to not having a boyfriend right now.” Rosie licked her lips. “I guarantee I’ll have this recipe figured out before we dock in Miami.”

  Jordan high-fived her friend. “And we didn’t even have to entertain Big Beau like Marsha did.”

  That brought on another round of giggling as the two women got ready for bed.

  “Rosie, are you thinking the same thing I am about what we heard Marsha say on the phone to Casey?”

  Rosie climbed under the covers. “I’m trying not to think the worst, but it really did sound like maybe there was something going on before the competition.” She sighed. “We need to tell Ray what we overheard.”

  Jordan shot up in the bed. “Are you crazy? Now that we’ve escaped that compromising position in the closet, I’ve reconsidered telling Ray what we just heard. We’d have to admit we stole Casey’s key and broke into their room.” She shook her head. “No way. Let’s just keep our eyes and ears open until we have something more solid to go on before we go running to him with our suspicions.”

  “What about the peanuts I found in the drawer?”

  Jordan thought for a moment. That one was not as easily explained, but she had to convince Rosie not to run to Ray just yet.

  “You saw the way Casey can put away food. It’s probably just something she brought with her for a late-night hunger attack.” She blew out a breath. “Come on, Rosie. You know Ray will freak out when he finds out we’ve been breaking and entering. Let’s wait awhile and see what happens. I promise we’ll go to him the minute our own investigation uncovers something worth reporting.”

  “I hate to admit it, but you’re probably right. I’m not in any mood to hear one of Ray’s lectures.”

  “So, we agree? Starting tomorrow, you and I will be on the lookout for any clues that might indicate the women are up to something sinister,” Jordan said, satisfied she had convinced her friend not to tell Ray just yet.

  “Okay. It’s probably just our overactive imaginations, anyway. We’ll look like fools if it turns out there isn’t anything suspicious to find.”

  Jordan narrowed her eyes. “Then why were those two sneaking around in the kitchen before the competition?”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Rosie, you have definitely outdone yourself,” Jordan said, popping the last bite of lunch into her mouth before licking her lips. “No wonder so many readers raved about this recipe last week.”

  “Calling it Pollo de la Hacienda del Rey was genius,” Lola commented, pushing her empty plate away. “That gives this mouthwatering Tex-Mex dish a little class. And if you ever decide to open up a real restaurant, it would jack up the price at least five bucks.”

  Rosie giggled. “When the Latinos realized that Pollo de la Hacienda del Rey was actually my aunt Lolly’s famous King Ranch Chicken, they’d probably start another Spanish war.” She stood before glancing up at the huge clock on the wall and plopping back down. “I should get back to the kitchen, but I can’t resist sitting a little longer with you all. I’m sure the guys can handle it by themselves for another ten minutes or so.”

  Jordan turned to Victor as the waiter set a second plate with the fabulous casserole in front of him. “That was brilliant, my friend.”

  His fork stopped abruptly, midway to his opened mouth, and he swiveled to face her. “What was?”

  “Your idea to make up fancy names for Rosie’s recipes.” Jordan checked out the heaping fork he held. There was no way he could get that much food into his mouth at one time. Was there?

  Watching him shovel it in and add another forkful to the mix made her smile. The only person who wasn’t entertained by his antics was his partner, who was watching with a scowl on his face.

  She stole a quick peek at her watch. If this played out the way things normally did when the cute and chubby Victor ate too much, it would be only a matter of minutes before Michael mentioned for the umpteenth time that Victor was supposed to be watching his diet.

  A few seconds later, Victor would fire back an expletive along with a thinly veiled sarcastic remark that it was a crying shame he wasn’t perfect like Michael. Despite the barb
s back and forth, everyone knew the two were devoted to each other.

  Victor surprised her by totally ignoring his partner and speaking only to her. “That was rather brilliant, if I do say so myself,” he said before wiping his face with the napkin. “Lord knows you would have been demoted back to writing just the personals if your editor knew the real story behind all those ‘gourmet’ recipes you print every week.”

  “Dwayne Egan didn’t get all the way up the Globe’s chain of command by being stupid.” Michael shook his head, apparently forgetting about Victor’s eating habits for the moment. “He knows exactly what Jordan’s doing, and he doesn’t care. He sells more newspapers than he can count when Jordan’s column hits the newsstands all over the—” He stopped when he noticed Victor eyeing the chocolate cake in the display case on the counter.

  Victor waved down the nearest waiter. “Please tell me I’m looking at Rosie’s German Chocolate Cake over there,” he said when the waiter approached. When the young man nodded, he clapped his hands. “That’s my favorite dessert.”

  “Sweetie, you might want to skip that since you’re planning to spend the afternoon by the pool,” Michael reminded him.

  Unfazed by the remark, Victor smacked his lips. “I’ll definitely have a piece of that, please.” He surveyed the table. “Anyone else? My treat.”

  “Oh, you crazy fool. Nobody’s buying that load of crap. The last time you sprang for anything was—actually, I don’t think you’ve ever brought out your wallet and yelled ‘Surprise!’” Lola teased.

  Shrugging, Victor countered, “You have a point, my dear. Good thing all this wonderful food is free.” He turned to the waiter patiently waiting. “Don’t get stingy on my piece, please,” he instructed, earning one of Michael’s evil looks.

  “Me, too,” Jordan said. “And don’t give him a bigger piece than me.” She winked at the cute waiter, who smiled his appreciation.

  After the waiter walked away, Victor whined, “No fair. He’s obviously more impressed by your wild red hair than my brilliant black eyes.”

  “All’s fair…”

  Chocolate was worth a little flirting, she thought, especially since she’d never been able to resist Rosie’s German Chocolate Cake. Besides, tonight was the appetizer round of the cooking competition. Visions of crabmeat and oysters made her stomach turn. Give her a gigantic plate of Southwest egg rolls or ultimate nachos, and she was one happy camper, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t see either tonight. Better to play it smart and fill up on Rosie’s food right now, because she’d probably starve later.

  “Oh hell. Me, too,” Lola said, calling after the waiter, who turned and nodded to acknowledge her order. Straightening her caftan over her stomach, she added, “There’s a lot more room left under this thing.”

  “That a girl,” Rosie said before she turned to Michael, a confused look on her face. “What was all that talk between Beau and your boss last night? Are they old friends?”

  “Were,” Michael said, leaning in to whisper. “Wayne said they were pretty tight in high school where they both played football, but he said Beau was a jerk even before he got so famous.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Lola said. “A snake is a snake even after it sheds its skin.”

  “He’s a snake, all right,” Michael continued. “Wayne said he severed their friendship when Beau did something so nasty, even his popularity and good looks couldn’t save him from public ridicule.”

  Everyone at the table inched closer.

  “Don’t stop now, sweetie,” urged Victor. “Inquiring minds and all that.”

  Michael swept the room with his eyes before speaking. “I wouldn’t want this to get out since Beau is a judge, but Wayne said he stole the recipe for his Sinfully Sweet goodies from a young girl back in high school.”

  “That makes him a jerk, but why would that be the talk of the town?” Lola asked, nearly lying across the table to hear better.

  “Not that.” Michael dropped his voice even lower. “Apparently, the girl was the daughter of a local minister and never dated. She was as homely as she was shy. Somehow, Beau slithered his way into her life and got her pregnant, then dumped her after she gave him her grandmother’s recipes.”

  “Sheesh!” Jordan exclaimed. “Why am I not surprised? The guy’s a piece of work.”

  “It gets worse. Apparently, the girl’s father disowned her, and she wrapped her car around a pole one night. Wayne said she never came home from the hospital, and Beau didn’t even send a card. Even laughed about it. After that, Wayne said he couldn’t stomach the guy anymore.”

  “Then why did Wayne sign him on for this contest?”

  Michael laughed. “It was Emily’s idea. Wayne wanted so much for this first cook-off to go over big, he thought he could get past all the old stuff. Apparently, Beau agreed because he thought it might be advantageous to mingle with the A-list people in the food industry—aka, George Christakis. That and the fact he couldn’t resist meeting a woman with more money than him.”

  “So Wayne put aside the fact that this guy is a serious dirtbag and signed him on, all in the name of promotion?” Rosie asked, shaking her head.

  “Pretty much. Personally, I wonder if it was worth it,” Michael said.

  “Here you go.” The waiter placed the dessert in front of Victor, Jordan, and Lola.

  And Rosie’s cake didn’t disappoint. As they dug into the rich chocolate layers, Ray walked through the door with a good-looking middle-aged man. When the two sauntered over to the table, Jordan and her friends could see the man had two black eyes and a large cut on his forehead.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Ray slid over two chairs and sat down on one before motioning for the newcomer to take the other.

  “Yes, and it’s going fast, so you’d better hurry. You might even want to start with dessert today since what you see is almost the last of it.” Rosie waved to the waiter, then took a moment to check out the man with Ray. “Do you want to try a piece?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His smile was enough to send a warm pink blush across Rosie’s cheeks, but the color deepened even further as he extended his hand across the table to her. “Jerry Goosman, but all my friends call me Goose.”

  “Goose is head of security,” Ray explained. “He and I have been poring over yesterday’s security tapes from the kitchen.”

  Jordan shot a quick look Rosie’s way, but the fiftyish woman was checking out the new arrival, her hand still in his.

  “Where’d you get those shiners, Goose, if you don’t mind me asking?” Victor moved in for a better look.

  “Not at all. The night before we boarded the ship in Miami I was downtown on business and saw a young man getting roughed up by two hoodlums. This is what I got for stepping in, but at least I chased the thugs away before they could do too much damage to either of us.”

  Rosie’s eyes sparkled. Goose’s tale of heroism was like an aphrodisiac to her.

  “See anything unusual on those tapes?” Jordan asked, hoping the tapes had captured Casey and Marsha in the kitchen before the contest.

  Ray shook his head.

  “Nothing?” she asked, remembering the conversation she’d overheard when she and Rosie were hiding in the closet in the lady chefs’ room the night before. Marsha had actually admitted doing something sneaky in the kitchen before the competition.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Goose answered.

  “Goose, if Rosie can spare you for a few seconds, I’d like to introduce you to the rest of my friends,” Ray said, a hint of irritation in his voice.

  It was old news to everyone around the table that Rosie was like a block of metal to a magnet whenever a tall older man was around, especially if said tall older man wore a uniform. Although Goose was dressed in jeans and an orange and blue plaid button-down shirt, the fact he was a security officer put him front and center on Rosie’s mental radar screen.

  Jordan snuck a peek toward the security chief an
d noticed his left hand was ringless. With salt-and-pepper hair cut in a short conservative style and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled, Jerry Goosman was just the kind of man Rosie was attracted to.

  Jordan smiled to herself, thinking she hadn’t yet met a good-looking man her friend wasn’t attracted to. Married four times—five if you counted her weekend-long remarriage to husband number three—Rosie knew her way around flirting. With her bleached blond hair pulled back into braids and her tie-dyed T-shirt that showed off a pretty good figure, she could have been a flower child from the seventies—and probably had been.

  Jordan almost felt sorry for the security chief, knowing her friend was about to start her mating ritual, which usually began before the unsuspecting man had a chance to catch his breath. She hoped Goose was up for the challenge, because once Rosie had her mind set, nothing stopped her.

  After introductions were made and the empty dessert plates cleared, Lola finally asked the question on everybody’s mind. “So, Goose, are you married?”

  His eyes darkened, and for a minute, Jordan thought he might tear up.

  “Technically, I am,” he admitted. “But it hasn’t been a marriage for a long time now.”

  The smile on Rosie’s face disappeared. “Please don’t tell me your wife doesn’t understand you.”

  Jordan made eye contact with Ray and braced herself for what she knew from experience would not be pleasant for the poor guy. Anyone who knew Rosie was aware that her pet peeve was infidelity, having been the victim of two womanizing husbands. Goose had just stepped on a live mine with blond braids and big blue eyes.

  “Mary Alice was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s five years ago.” He pointed to his chest. “After she bought me this God-awful shirt not once but twice in the same week, I knew something was terribly wrong. My wife was a schoolteacher and had the memory of an elephant, plus she hated plaid. I wore it then to please her and now because it reminds me of her.” He tilted his head back as if to stop a falling tear. After a moment, he continued. “I took care of her at home for as long as I could, but when she nearly died after setting the house on fire, I knew we needed help.”