Dead in the Water (Kate Ryan Mysteries Book 10) (14 page)

“Or a basketball team.”

We walked back into the main area; that was when Maggie noticed the welcome basket. I peered into it. “Should we open it?”

“Of course. What’s in it?”

I laughed at Maggie’s child-like giggle.

“Let’s see. Some fruit…”

The knock on the door stopped me. “Hold that thought,” Maggie said, opening the door.

A crew member tipped his hat. “Admiral Merriweather wanted me to tell you the ship is ready to leave the dock in forty-five minutes. Cocktails will be served at that time on the foredeck. And dinner will follow,” he said with a smile. “Your attendance is mandatory, I’m afraid.”

Maggie laughed. “Tell the…admiral we’ll be there promptly.”

“No, we won’t,” I called out, thinking of the huge shower. “So would you please tell Admiral Slugnutty that we—”

“Yes, we will.” Maggie glared at me.

“But…”

“Thank you,” Maggie said to the porter.

“You’re welcome. Oh, dress is optional,” he added as he tipped his hat once again.

“What kind of dinner is this?” I asked.

I laughed when Maggie pointed to her temple and made a circular motion to the porter before she closed the door. She then turned to me. “We can’t be rude.”

“Au contraire.”

Maggie laughed and met me halfway. “We can freshen up, have a few drinks, a nice dinner. Meet the rest of the passengers.”

“And have a nice moonlit stroll on the poop deck.”

Maggie playfully swatted me on the behind. “Get going, ya ole poop.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” I scooted out of the way. “And that was a horrible imitation of Katharine Hepburn.”

*******

Well, it was a good thing dress was optional because I didn’t bring one—or anything dressy. This is what I get when Maggie doesn’t pack for me. And now I tried to remember what it was like before Maggie—I dressed like I was going to the beach, even when it wasn’t the beach. And while I’m on the topic, I think she threw away my good Notre Dame T-shirt. Did I see her using it to polish the dining room table? And when did she start cleaning my apartment? She shouldn’t be doing that; she’s not a maid. Though now the image of her in a French maid’s outfit complete with feather duster erotically flashed through my mind.

Anyway, where was I? See what happens? All I need is a thought of Maggie Winfield, and everything else—all reason and logic—flies out the window. Hannah calls it love. I suppose she’s right.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

I heard the sultry voice and smiled. “You’ll get change,” I said, turning around.

Maggie stood by the bed, putting on her earrings. She wore her hair down; it was so silky and soft-looking. She wore a simple sleeveless summer dress, sandals, and the sexiest smile I’d ever seen.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered. “And I’m underdressed.”

Maggie laughed and turned to the mirror. “You look wonderful. Even in the blue jeans. Remind me to always pack for you.”

“Hey, I’m a grown woman,” I said, walking up behind her. I caressed a few strands of hair between my fingers before sweeping it out of the way to kiss her lovely neck. “And you smell good.” I nibbled there for a moment. “Why don’t we tell the admiral we’re planning a mutiny?”

Maggie sighed and sagged against me. “B-because. Simon would be hurt and, and…” she laughed then and scooted out of my way. “Okay, that’s enough. We need to go.”

She backed up while laughing. I walked toward her. “Come back here.”

“No!” Still laughing, she reached for her purse and the doorknob. “Kate, stop it. What’s gotten into you?”

When she opened the door, I gently pulled her into my arms. “You. You’ve ruined me for any other woman.”

“Good,” she whispered, planting a scorching kiss against my lips.

“I think you loosened a tooth,” I said, running my tongue over my lips.

We followed a few people, hoping they had a nose for the cocktails. The late afternoon was warm with clear skies and a gentle breeze. The setting was perfect. I watched Maggie as she clung to the railing, her head back, her eyes closed as she took a deep breath. My God, she was beautiful. And I was so lucky.

I stood next to her, our shoulders touching. She slipped her arm in mine and sighed. “This is heaven. What a wonderful idea.”

“It is wonderful and so are you.” I kissed the top of her head.

Maggie looked up. “What’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

She searched my face for a moment. “I don’t know. There’s something different about you.”

Uh-oh.

“Bad different?”

“Of course not,” she said, smiling. “Just different.”

“May I offer you a drink?”

I looked over my shoulder at a porter, who smiled.

“Oh, sure. Maggie?”

Maggie leaned closer to me. “Order for me, please.”

Oh, boy. My heart raced when the sexy voice started again.

“Two cabernets, please.” I wanted to add a valium, as well.

“Very good.”

“I remember the first time I ordered a drink for you. I believe you got mad at me,” I said, gazing out at the expansive lake. I had no idea Lake Superior was so huge. The town of Sault Ste. Marie was fading fast in the distance.

“I remember that.” Maggie laughed. “You were very brazen.”

“And you were very stubborn.” I turned to face her, leaning my elbow on the railing. “Come to think of it, you still are. And sarcastic.”

Her dimples cut deep lines into her cheeks. I wanted to kiss her.

“Want me to change?”

“Not one bit,” I whispered. I did kiss her then. Her lips were warm, but I felt them quiver against mine. Was she nervous? The fact that I wasn’t amazed me. So I kissed her deeper, gently pulling her into my arms.

Maggie quickly pulled away when the server walked up with our drinks. I playfully glared at him.

“Your timing stinks,” I said, taking the glasses.

“My apologies,” he said with a wink and walked away.

“What should we drink to?” Maggie asked.

I looked down into her blue eyes. “You pick.”

“How about the day you knocked me off my horse?”

I smiled and held her hand. “Hmmm. I don’t know.”

“Okay, you pick.”

“How about the day we danced on the pier?”

Tears filled her eyes. “Why that day?”

“Because that’s the day I knew I was in love with you. Even though I didn’t say it then and still don’t say it often enough.”

“Kate…” she said hesitantly.

“You told me to pick. No fair arguing.” I held up my glass. “To that day, Maggie Winfield.”

Maggie nodded and laughed. “Okay. To that day on the pier. Because I felt the same way about you, Kate Ryan.”

She blinked, sending a stream of tears down her cheeks. How can she look so beautiful when she cries?

We gently touched glasses, then took a drink of wine.

“This is good stuff,” I said.

“It is tasty,” Maggie agreed, taking another sip.

“I fear I’m interrupting,” Simon called out.

“Then go, ouch…” I winced as Maggie pinched my arm.

“What do you think so far?” Simon asked as he looked around.

“It’s beautiful. I never knew how expansive Lake Superior was,” Maggie said, sipping her wine. “I think your friend Monty has a good idea here.”

“I hope so,” he said.

“You don’t sound so sure,” I said, watching him.

“Oh, Monty is a worrier. Right now, he’s worrying himself into a tizzy.”

“Over what?” Maggie asked.

“As far as I can tell,” Simon said, leaning an elbow on the railing, “this idea actually started with his former colleague. They argued over it too much, apparently, so Monty and he parted ways. But they both wanted to start this business. The problem was Monty had no financial backing.”

“And that’s where you come in?” I asked.

“Yes. Along with the others who are on this little excursion. If all goes well, they’ll give him the financial backing.”

“Then I guess I can see where he’d be nervous,” Maggie said. “Is that him?”

Simon looked behind him and waved. “Yes.”

Winston Montague was a very handsome man. This will sound so stereotypical of me, but why are gay men always so strikingly handsome and in magnificent shape? This guy looked like he stepped right out of
GQ
in a captain’s uniform. Given his name, I was expecting Thurston Howell III. But he was tall, tanned, and dark-haired with wisps of gray. Good grief, even I’d go for him…

Of course, he had a brilliantly white toothy smile. All he was missing was the Errol Flynn mustache.

“Monty, these are the friends I was telling you about. Kate Ryan and Dr. Maggie Winfield.”

Monty shook our hands but lingered with Maggie. “A medical doctor?”

“Well, yes,” Maggie said, seemingly taken aback by the question.

Frankly, so was I. Then it struck me. Don’t tell me…I glared at Simon, who smiled innocently and nodded.

Fine, no captain, no ship’s doctor. What else? They’d better have an engine on this tug.

“Any specialty?” Monty asked, trying to sound nonchalant, I was sure.

“Not really. An old-fashioned GP, I suppose.”

“Excellent,” Monty said, still shaking her hand.

Maggie laughed nervously. “Then I can stay?”

We all had a good laugh—hardy har—while I still glared at Simon.

“I apologize for the questions, but one of the passengers, Mr. Whitehead, has a heart condition,” Monty explained.

“And he’s one of the biggest financiers,” Simon added. “Well, let’s be honest.”

Monty looked very uncomfortable, so Simon continued. “I’ve explained the situation to them, Monty, so no worries. It will be a relaxing weekend with no surprises.”

“I hope so,” Monty said, looking at the other passengers.

“So who’s who?” Simon asked, hailing the server with the tray of champagne. He took our wineglasses from us. “Not when there’s champagne.”

The same member of the crew was immediately at our side with the tray. After doling out the bubbly, Simon repeated his question.

“Oh,” Monty said, taking a sip. “That’s Mr. Whitehead.”

“The rotund gentleman puffing on a cigar?” Simon did not hide the shock in his voice.

“Yes, Simon, and keep it down, please,” Monty pleaded. “And the gentleman in the Hawaiian shirt is Paul Adams and his wife, Shirley.”