Love Overboard

Chapter 40

THE STRAINS OF A CLASSIC love song wafted through the double doors to where Lacey stood by the elevators. Past the entrance, gauzy tents, chocolate fountains, and flickering tea lights awaited the guests. The lido deck had been transformed into a romantic wonderland.

Lacey lifted a gloved hand to move a tendril that tickled her chin. Her hair curled in gentle waves and fell around her shoulders. The softer style complimented her turquoise evening gown. The floor-length dress swished around her as she moved.

She held a black basket with the Monarch crown emblem on the front. Red and white long-stemmed roses peeked out of the top. To her left sat a table filled with masks of all shapes and sizes. Guests began to arrive and choose which disguise they preferred before entering the moonlit masquerade. Lacey passed them a rose on their way in.

“Greetings, honored guests,” she said to the couple who stood in front of her.

Such over-the-top dialogue would not have been her first choice, but the cruise line was attempting to create a regal atmosphere. She extended them two roses. The woman placed the flower in her teeth and pulled out a phone.

“Lesss take a pictchah,” she mouthed around the stem as she dragged her partner down into the shot.

“Allow me to help you.” Lacey placed her basket on the ground, took the phone, and counted to three.

The pair posed with the flowers in their mouths. “Cheeth.”

She passed the phone back to them and picked up her basket again as they walked outside.

So much for the elegant approach.

If Monarch Cruises was going for a majestic feel, this evening was a total flop. But if their aim was to please the passengers, then chalk up another success. Conversations and laughter hummed.

“There you are.” Jon walked through the outside doors. His tailored, single-breasted tuxedo emphasized his height as he stood in front of her. He wore a gold Monarch crown pin on the black satin lapel, and his matching tie gleamed against the pristine white shirt. He took the flower basket from her, placed it on the side table, and twirled a finger. “Could you give me a 360 spin?”

“What do you mean?” Lacey glanced behind her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I want to get the full picture, so I’ll know what to dream about tonight.”

Lacey shuddered even as she laughed. “Did you search cheesy pickup lines on the internet?”

“I’ve got more if you want to listen.”

“Pass.” Lacey reached to smooth a wrinkle in his tie. One of the elevators dinged, and she retrieved her basket. “Go away now. We’ve got work to do.”

A thin, balding man in a pin-striped suit, bow tie, and horn-rimmed glasses exited the elevator with Reid Collins and walked up behind Jon. Carrying an old-fashioned briefcase, the stranger looked more ready for a boardroom than a ball.

“Hello, Jonathan.” He held out a hand in front of him.

Jon turned, and his smile faded. “Hello, Mr. Eliot. You’re underdressed for the party.” He motioned to Collins, who’d swapped his shorts for a pair of dress slacks but paired them with a different ill-fitting Hawaiian shirt. “Both of you.”

“What?” Collins brushed at his outfit.

“Yes, my apologies.” The stranger’s hand hung awkwardly in midair, and he let it fall to his side. “I flew into Mérida, drove to Progreso, and boarded while the ship was docked there. Since my motive was purely business, I didn’t bring any formal attire.”

Business?

Lacey studied the gentleman. Who would be allowed to board a cruise in the middle of the voyage? A bigwig from corporate? Had the detective found evidence on the MS Buckingham and contacted him?

Mr. Eliot extended his hand to her. “How do you do? I’m—”

“Let’s not waste time.” Jon’s voice rose. “You picked an inconvenient moment for a visit, Mr. Eliot. We’re in the middle of an event.” He looked at the stranger and then strode to the doorway. “Follow me.”

The man’s pinstripe-covered legs scampered after Jon as he stalked away. Collins followed at a leisurely pace, hands stuck in his pockets, leaving Lacey alone in the entry. She clutched the basket of roses to her body, wishing she knew what was going on. Did they find the smugglers?

Emily winced as she left the elevator. She should’ve worn sandals. Her feet wouldn’t last long in these tight shoes. She pinched the skirt of the ankle-length lavender dress she’d last worn to her great-niece’s wedding.

Lacey stood near the entrance, craning her neck at the crowd beyond the double doors.

Emily hobbled over and patted the distracted girl. “Lacey?”

“What? Oh, Mrs. Windsor.” She took a rose from her basket and offered it to Emily. “Greetings, honored guest.”

Emily accepted the flower. “A simple ‘hello’ will do fine. Have you seen my friends?”

“No, ma’am. Not recently.”

Emily checked her wristwatch and tapped the pointy toe of her dress pump. Where were the girls?

Passengers in formal attire swarmed the outside deck. A tiny man with a pencil-thin mustache and a tall white paper hat passed the doors. He paused when he saw Emily with Lacey and walked inside.

“Mrs. Windsor!”

“Hello, Chef. I’m anticipating the special dessert tent tonight.”

“I baked a delectable praline cheesecake for the festivities.” He kissed his fingers. “Care for a sample? I can bring you one.”

“I’m sorry, dear. Your creations are wonderful, but I’m not very fond of pralines. I’ll stick to the cherry tarts.” She laughed. “Unless Ricardo burned them again.”

“Again?” The chef scrunched his face. “When did he burn them the first time?”

“Oh … I—” Emily bit her lip. Had she ratted out Ricardo to his boss? “That is, I heard he bought extra ingredients from his brother’s store at the last port. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Ricardo doesn’t have any brothers,” Lacey said. “You must’ve misunderstood.”

“Yes.” The chef sneered. “He’s the spoiled baby boy of four sisters. And it shows in his performance. I never met a pastry chef who expected more hand-holding.”

The sound of his complaining faded into the background as Emily replayed the conversation on the pier. No. Ricardo had mentioned a brother. Did he mean in the friendly, non-blood-related sense?

Lacey looped the basket on one arm. “Maybe he was referring to the time he made too many tarts a few voyages ago. Three thousand was a bit much for the captain’s reception.”

“Don’t remind me,” Chef growled. “A hundred people attended that VIP get-together. What possessed him to make three thousand? Did he think each guest would take a doggie bag? Now you tell me he’s buying extra ingredients again. I better set him straight.” He stormed away, leaving the two women alone.

Emily touched Lacey’s elbow. “Jon informed me you were helping him investigate.”

“You know about the—”

“Drugs? Yes. I promised him the Shippers would keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. The reason I went ashore today was to do reconnaissance work.”

Lacey’s lips twitched, but she didn’t interrupt.

“None of the passengers seemed fishy, but on the way back, I met Ricardo with a large bag.” Emily drew closer and whispered. “Don’t you find it odd that a pastry chef purchased replacement supplies from an imaginary brother with his own money?”

“Yes.” Lacey’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, I do.” She dropped the basket, tugged the long silky gloves from her arms, and balled them in her fist. “Excuse me, Mrs. Windsor. I need to make Jon aware of this.”

Jon skimmed the press of people and took Mr. Eliot by the elbow. “Let’s talk in private.” Jon steered him through the festive crowd to a deserted part of the deck, behind the food tent. Cases of bottled water and boxes of assorted gourmet cookies cluttered the area.

Collins tore open one of the wrappings and shoved a gingersnap in his mouth.

Jon released Mr. Eliot. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t your father call you?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in a few weeks.”

Mr. Eliot held his briefcase with one hand and opened it with the other. After riffling through the contents, he drew out a file. He closed the case and stuck it under his arm, then flipped through the folder and removed a single sheet of paper. “The employee caught with the drugs on the MS Royal divulged the names of his suppliers to the FBI. They’re closing in, and your father believes the drug problem is under control. He wants you to conclude your work here and return to Florida.”

Collins slipped a fresh piece of gum from his pocket. “Guess I better start looking for a new job. I knew cruise ship detective was too good a gig to last.”

Jon ignored him. “Why the rush?”

Mr. Eliot pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “He resolved to entrust the reins to you before the New Year. Mr. McMillan plans to introduce you as the official CEO of Monarch Cruises then. I’ll remain in the executive secretary position and assist you during the transition. This is the projected timeline.”

He held out the paper, but Jon made no move to take it.

“Don’t you have my email address? It wasn’t necessary to bring this personally.”

Mr. Eliot offered an apologetic head tilt. “Your father wanted me to make sure you came.”

Collins laughed. “He sent a babysitter.”

“Mr. Collins, please.” A crease gathered on the secretary’s forehead. “There’s no need to be flippant.”

Jon loosened the knot of his tie and yanked it down. “Dad told me I had until summer.”

Mr. Eliot dropped the paper in the folder. “He feels the stockholders will be more accepting of the change if there is an interim period when you both are at the company. This way, you can run things, but he’ll still be around until his official retirement.”

“And what if I don’t want to leave yet?”

“Surely the assistant cruise director can fill in for the last few days before the ship sails home. You can be replaced here but not at headquarters. You’re the heir to the Monarch legacy.”

Collins spit his gum in a nearby trash can and snagged another cookie from the open box. “Must be nice. You get a successful business served to you on a silver platter because you’re Jonathan McMillan.”

“Jonathan McMillan.” A quiet voice repeated the name.

Jon spotted Lacey frozen by the corner of the tent, her hands hanging limp at her sides.

She scanned the three men. “Eavesdropping is always a bad idea.”

“Lacey.” He stepped toward her and took her by the arm.

She made no move to stop him. On the contrary, she was stone-still. Was that a good or a bad sign?

“Please give me a chance to explain.”

She looked around him at the other men. “Does this explanation require three people?”

Jon kept a loose hold on her, afraid she’d run away. He nodded to Mr. Eliot and Collins. “Would you excuse us? I have something urgent to discuss with Miss Anderson.”

Collins stretched. “Prime time to check out one of those chocolate fountains.”

“Please pack your things,” Mr. Eliot said. “I have the company jet waiting at the airport in Cozumel. Your father expects us back by tomorrow evening.”

Jon ground out his words through clenched teeth. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“Yes.” The secretary stuffed his file folder into the briefcase. “I’ll … be going, then.” He skittered past them and disappeared around the corner of the tent.

Jon focused on Lacey.

She didn’t look angry.

She didn’t look happy.

She looked … like she was greeting passengers on the first day of a cruise. This was her customer-service face.