Page 16 of Love Overboard
A swayback horse pulling a silk-flower-bedecked carriage clomped to a stop nearby. Dirty tan netting covered the animal’s hide to protect it from the sun, and a bag stretched behind its tail to protect the street from the remains of the horse’s breakfast.
“Wasn’t it sweet of Jonathan to provide a ride for us?” Daisy said from the end of the row.
“That one’s a keeper.” Althea rubbed her stomach. “Have you got anything to eat?”
Daisy dug around in her pink suede purse and passed her a mini candy bar.
“I wonder how much he spent,” Emily said. “Hiring two taxis for the whole day? Couldn’t have been cheap.”
Gerry scrawled in her notebook. “They pay cruise directors well.”
“Still.” Emily quirked her head. “We should delve deeper into Mr. Jonathan King’s background. And for that, we’ll need more basic details.”
She raised her legs and swung her feet out of the water. A tiny fish clung to her heel, and she shook it off. “Come on, Shippers. Time to get to work.”
The women dried their feet and paid the store owner. They exited to find Rafael and his buddy waiting as they’d promised.
“Swing low, sweeeeeeet chariot,” Althea sang as she climbed into the bicycle taxi. “Comin’ for to carry me home.”
The other three took their seats on the open-air benches.
“No beachhoy?” Rafael asked.
“Not today,” said Emily. “To the ship, please.Ándale!”
She tapped her chin with an index finger.Jonathan King. Good-looking. Considerate. Generous.But her bones whispered there was more to the story, and she meant to find out what.
CHAPTER 7
“SLOW. SLOW. QUICK-QUICK, SLOW.”
Wooden floorboards rattled as the lead-footed passengers stomped across the stage of the main auditorium. The Argentine tango sounded more like a military march. Jon’s left temple pounded to the beat of the live accordion music. Why would anyone schedule a ballroom dance class for nine o’clock in the morning? The high-pitched voice of the instructor, Marcel, grated on Jon’s nerves as his middle-aged partner tromped on his big toe for the second time.
The woman in the fluorescent-yellow beach cover-up hopped back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” Jon smiled. “I’m sure Fred Astaire would have put up with much worse for the beautiful Ginger.”
“Who are they?”
“A famous dance pair in classic movies.”
“Oh.”
She tittered like a canary, and he wondered why he was wasting his day here when he should be vetting the crew for possible suspects. Marcel had roped him into the class when the assistant dance instructor caught the flu. Jon’s job was to partner the single ladies. Chances were they weren’t really single. Their husbands and boyfriends likely possessed a strong preservation instinct that kept them away.
He felt pressure on his left pinky toe, but his partner didn’t even notice she was trampling his foot.
“Pardon me.” He tapped her, and she beamed at him. “You’re standing on my toe.”
“Oh.” She wobbled backward. “I’m sorry, Fred.” Her shrill bird laugh hit him again.
“It’s okay, Ginger.”
“Excuse me, baby.” Althea’s voice sounded from the theater floor below them. She hauled herself onto the stage, pranced over, and sidled up to his partner. “Mind if I cut in? It would be such a shame if I got all gussied up for nothing.” She wore a black leotard with a ruffled skirt in a scandalous shade of red. Her silver hair was slicked flat and confined in a low bun with curls surrounding it. A silk rose rested behind her ear.
“I … I guess not.” The woman moved aside, and Althea took her place.
“My divine Althea comes.” Jon held out his left hand, and she placed her right one on it.
