Love Overboard

Chapter 6

THE LONG CONCRETE PIER STRETCHED in front of the Shippers like an airplane runway. Women in colorful voluminous Mexican dresses and flowered hairdos posed with the picture-hungry passengers after they disembarked. A line of faux-grass roofs sat in the distance, where the first hurrah of overpriced souvenir shops waited.

“Hello, Cozumel.” Emily stood on the pier and counted in her head how many voyages she had docked there. “For the twenty-third time.”

Behind her, Althea groused at the gangplank, scooting her feet along as she grasped the rail. “Why do they put everything so stinkin’ far away? The boat should pull up to Main Street and drop us off.”

“The Caribbean Sea doesn’t flow through Main Street.” Gerry stomped down the metal walkway. “But I’m with you. I’d rather stay on board and work on the novel I’m writing. Why are we doing this again, Daisy?”

“Magda recommended an exceptional pedicure place.” The genteel woman adjusted her designer sunglasses and brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “They offer ichthyotherapy.”

“Icky-what?” Althea asked.

“Trust me. It will be worth it.”

“It better be.” Althea scowled at the sizable walk awaiting them and groaned.

The foursome started toward the shops when two bright-red bicycle taxis with yellow sunshades arrived.

“We will give you ride,” one of the drivers said with an appealing accent.

“Praise the Lawd!” Althea lifted her hands to the sky and headed for the nearest padded seat.

“Hold it, Althea.” Emily grabbed the eager woman’s arm. “We don’t want to spend our life savings.” She eyed the taxis and their operators. “How much will this cost?”

“It is free.”

Gerry snorted. “Do we look stupid?”

“No, no.” The man waved. “For you, it is free. You are sheepers, no?”

“Sheepers?” Gerry wrinkled her nose at Emily. “Baaaa?”

“Oh, Shippers.” Emily nodded. “We are Shippers. Yes.”

“Mucho gusto. I am Rafael. A man named Jonathan call me to pick you up. He already pay.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Althea clambered into the taxi and plopped onto the bench. “Come on, Daisy. Jonny hired these nice gentlemen to carry us to the salon.” She patted the empty spot beside her.

“What an obliging gesture.” Daisy joined her without argument. “We must write him a thank-you note.”

The more suspicious Emily and Gerry paused a few seconds before boarding the other taxi. The drivers climbed on their bicycles and transported the ladies down the long pier and through the fake village in just a few minutes. Daisy directed them to the nail place, and they zipped through the city, eventually dropping them off at the entrance.

Rafael grinned. “We will wait until you finish.”

“We may be a while,” said Emily.

“It is fine. Jonathan paid me for all day.”

Daisy put a delicate hand to her chest. “I think we owe him more than a thank-you note, ladies.”

Gerry shooed her into the building. “We’re helping him win the love of his life. That’s worth much more than a greeting card.”

A bell rang as the four entered not a salon but a convenience store.

Althea looked around. “Baby, are you sure you got the address right?”

“Don’t be put off by the surroundings.” Daisy waved to four cushy chairs shoved against the side wall. “This is where we want.”

In front of each chair sat a large glass box with water. Tiny gray fish about the size of pinto beans swam inside.

“Hello.” A woman appeared from the recesses of the store. “You want a treatment?”

“Yes, one for each of us.” Daisy motioned to her friends.

“Good. Sit here, please.” The attendant grabbed a pile of towels from a side table.

Gerry’s skinny fingers shot in the air as she held up her palm. “Hold on a minute. I’m not sitting anywhere until I know what this is.”

“It’s perfectly safe, Gerry.” Daisy took the chair on the far right and unbuckled her low-heeled leather sandals. “Ichthyotherapy is an all-natural pedicure. You place your feet in the water, and the fish eat the dead skin off your soles.”

“My cracked heels are their lunch?” Althea made a face but sat on the chair next to her. “Doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

The proprietor passed Gerry a laminated flyer, and Emily examined a bowl of Mexican candy as Gerry read aloud. “‘Ichthyotherapy is an organic treatment where Garra rufa fish micromassage your feet as they eat the outer layer of your skin. A relaxing, chemical-free experience.’”

Daisy rolled her pants legs to her knees and lowered her slender feet into the tank. “Ahhh.” She wilted on the chair. “The cool water refreshes my tired arches. Indulge yourself, Gerry.”

“They spelled chemical k-e-m-i-c-a-l.” Gerry waved the sheet under Daisy’s nose.

She ignored the typo and rested her head against the wall.

“Ooooh.” Althea giggled as the fish in her own tank swarmed around her toes. “It tickles.”

“Oh well.” Emily walked to the chair beside her. “If you can’t beat them, et cetera.”

“There will be no ‘et cetera’ for me.” Gerry crossed her arms.

“Don’t be so stuffy, baby.” Althea flapped her hand at the empty seat. “It feels good.”

“I’ll stay over here, thank you. One of us should keep her shoes on to run for help.”

“Do whatever makes you comfortable, Gerry.” Emily learned a long time ago the woman had a stubborn streak the length of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. Arguing was pointless.

The holdout Shipper eyed the process with skepticism as enthusiastic fish nibbled at her friends’ toes, but Emily chuckled when she saw her pull a small notebook from her pocket. Gerry might not get a pedicure out of the trip, but she must have gotten inspiration for her book.

Emily leaned farther back on her seat.

The sounds and smells of Cozumel drifted through the open doorway. Meat sizzled on the griddle of the taco cart at the curb, and the spicy scent of carne asada with grilled onions wafted on the breeze. A store owner across the street beckoned at a man in a loud, ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt lingering outside. “Let me give you a tequila shot. Come on.” It was a common sales tactic in the port town for getting customers into one’s shop.

Emily’s gaze met the tourist’s through the glass window, and she shook her head at him. He tugged his panama hat lower on his forehead, hunched his shoulders, and followed the owner inside.

She tsk-tsked. “I hope he doesn’t visit every establishment on the strip.”

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 beach hoy?” 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.