Hot Stuff (20 page)

Trudging down the steps, I almost spilled my tray of remnants
when a party of revelers came racing up in the opposite direction, screaming nonsensical words at the top of their lungs.

Dodging the herd, I flattened my back against the wall of the cabin, eyeing each one of them in hopes James was in the pack.

“Moore, in my office.”

It was Chef Jean, whose only official function was to be host of the party. And as I followed the short, stout cook, I wondered how much smaller his office on this yacht could be than the size of his L'Elfe restaurant office.

Much smaller. The room was tiny. Postage-stamp tiny. Barely enough room to turn around. Chef sat behind the desk. I stood.

“I had to play along with having you and your partner work this cruise, but I thought Lessor would be professional enough to do the work.”

“Chef Jean, he is professional. He's working on the murder case, but I know him well enough to understand that he takes his kitchen duties very seriously too. He's into the cooking thing. And I can't explain where he is right now. Believe me, he wouldn't blow this opportunity for all the tea in China.”

My mother used to use that phrase. I have no knowledge that the Chinese drink that much tea or manufacture that much of the beverage.

“Marty wants him fired. Give me a good reason to keep him in the kitchen, Eugene.”

“Because you want to know who killed Amanda Wright.”

He sighed. “I do.”

“Then let me find him. He may have a lead that had to be followed, but I'm sure I'll produce him in the next hour.”

James didn't have a lead. He would have contacted me. Hell, he would have shouted it out to the crowd at the party. A smoke break? I don't think so.

“Find him. In the next ten minutes. Do you understand?”

I don't know where I got the guts to say it, but I did.

“Chef, I understand that Marty is pissed off. When someone abandons his post, everyone else has to pick up the slack.”

He nodded his chubby face.

“But, you? You own this company, right?”

I sensed hesitation. He squinted his eyes and looked away from me, toward the door to his mini-office.

“Well?” I didn't really need the dishwasher gig. Confront the boss and take the chance of never scraping a plate again.

“I'll take care of Chef Marty.” He studied the mahogany desktop.

“And I'll find James. But you've got to understand, everything we're doing is working toward closure. I'd love to report to you that your staff totally checks out, but they don't. There are a lot of problems with this staff. First of all you've got a setup guy who thinks that Amanda was pushy and self-serving, a missing dishwasher who had a crush on her, and a very disappointed sous chef who is not happy that Amanda Wright was promoted to head chef of her own restaurant. He's also not happy that you told everyone James was next in line. Plus,” I finally took a breath, “there's a feeling that she was seeing someone on your staff. Your pastry chef, Kelly Fields, says Amanda hinted at a romantic fling. Amanda even told Juan Castro that she was seeing someone, but we have yet to figure out who that person might be.”

He looked up at me and blinked. “An affair? Really? Someone actually believes that she was having an affair with someone from my staff?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. I'd gotten the impression it was almost common knowledge.

“I don't allow that in my kitchen.”

“It's what we heard.”

Bouvier let out a breath and pursed his lips.

“I'm not saying that it's not possible, but—”

And I wanted to tell him his wife was even involved, telling James that she feared her husband was a suspect in the murder. Which was suspect in itself, since we weren't aware anyone was even considering Chef Jean.

“I'll take care of my end.” The little chef stood up. He pointed to the door and I exited. I'd bought myself a little time, but my roommate had better show up soon. James was once again the major thorn in my side.

Walking into the kitchen, I saw Sophia in a sparkling silver gown, her ample back to me, dressing down the guy who was making the salads.

“Two tomato slices, and they should balance the plate. I want a memorable presentation. Do you understand?
Two
, not three.” She turned to me with a scowl, drink in hand. “And where's your friend the sous chef?”

I wondered who really did own this company.

I also wondered where James was. It didn't take long to find out.

The polished teak deck that surrounded the yacht was emptying as the revelers searched for their seats in the main cabin. I walked the deck to the rear of the yacht where there were no lights. The rising moon cast a golden shimmer that bounced over the rippling water, and I could barely make out what lay ahead. As I rounded a corner, I heard the voice screaming.

“Man overboard.”

I froze. It had to be James. Not the voice, but the actual body. The man overboard was James. I knew it.

Sprinting toward the sound, I saw one of the uniformed deckhands toss something into the water. It settled on the surface as a floodlight flashed on the inky sea, blinding me for a moment.

I closed my eyes and reached for the railing. Opening them I could see someone flailing in the water, grabbing for the life ring buoy as it floated just beyond their grasp.

“Quick,” yelled another deckhand, “toss another one. Somebody with better aim this time.”

Through the air the round buoy sailed, this time hitting the
bobbing body on the head. The swimmer appeared dazed, and I was afraid they were going to let this life ring move out of range. And as I watched, eyes wide open, the body went under. For a long moment there was no motion, nothing except two life-saving rings floating on the water and that brilliant light, bouncing off the shimmering surface.

“I'm going in,” yelled a deckhand who was stripping off his jacket.

I should have. I'd been on the swim team in high school and the person wasn't that far out, but I think I was still in shock, realizing it might be James.

Then, with a lunge, whoever it was broke the surface and grabbed the second white lifesaver and hung on tightly as two men in white pulled on the rope, dragging my business partner through the water. No doubt about it, it was James.

There was applause from the assembled guests as they moved to the railing to watch the rescue.

He looked like a beached white sea mammal, dark hair matted over his face and his skin pale as a ghost.

As they pulled him from the bay, he grabbed the ladder and shakily climbed on board.

“What happened?” A man who appeared to be the captain of the vessel approached him.

James glanced at me, shivering as a deckhand wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Still shaking, he shook his head slightly and said, “I tripped. I'm embarrassed to say, I tripped.”

The captain pointed to the gate where guests walked on to the boat. “Was it unfastened?” Walking to the hinged metal gate, he grabbed it and pushed. It held firm, not moving an inch.

“I don't know.” James brushed the wet hair from his eyes, as another deckhand offered him a large plush towel.

A crowd had gathered, guests from the party interested in
the latest diversion. It was probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I mean how many times in your life do you hear someone shout, “Man overboard?”

“There's a stateroom to your left,” the captain took him sternly by the elbow and guided him away from the gathering. “We'll get you some dry clothes.”

I followed close behind.

Once inside the room, the captain opened a closet with a wardrobe of white uniforms.

“You can shower there,” he pointed to a bath area, “and change into one of these.” He seemed to notice me for the first time. “You're a friend?”

“Yeah. Roommate.”

Spinning back to James, he said, “Tell me what happened, young man. Accidents like this do not take place on my boat.”

I sensed the hesitation in James's voice.

“I don't know. I came out from the kitchen for a smoke break, leaned against the gate, and it swung open and—”

“I thought you told me you tripped.”

“Sort of. Look, I'm safe, and I'm sorry for any disturbance.”

“Disturbance? I don't think you understand what's happened here. First of all, we have to file a report and there will be an investigation. This isn't simply a small accident.” He wore a scowl on his face as he seemed to go over a mental checklist. “The Coast Guard, the Miami Police, they'll all have to be notified.”

This was going to be a black mark on a ship's captain who apparently had a stellar reputation. And I gathered there would be paperwork. Lots of paperwork.

“Get your shower, change, and I'll be back.” He turned with military precision and walked toward the door.

“Hey, Captain.”

The man turned his head, pulling on the brim of his cap.

“I could have drowned.”

The scowl was replaced with a serious frown. He paused as if waiting for the timing, then spoke.

“You didn't.”

He continued out the door.

“What the hell, James?”

“I was pushed, amigo.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You're positive.” I was surprised to realize that I wasn't surprised. We both knew there were people who weren't happy with James working for Bouvier. Still, attempted murder was a pretty serious charge.

He glowered. “Somebody's hands at my waist, shoving me through that gate. It wasn't fastened, Skip, and when I hit the water, I think I blacked out for a second.”

“How long were you in there?”

“I don't know. I don't swim well, but when you see your life leaving in the form of a large, white luxury yacht, you swim like hell and yell at the top of your lungs. A lesson in survival in case this ever happens to you.”

I thought for a moment.

“My question should be, what the hell were you doing out there?”

He nodded, a knowing look on his face. “I was summoned.”

“Summoned?”

“You and I were talking for a moment, and when I went back to my station there was a note from one of those sticky pads. Somebody'd stuck it on my cutting board. Just a scrawled message saying ‘meet me on deck by the gate in five minutes. I have some information.' “

“Signed by?”

“No signature. I thought maybe Marty or the big guy himself.”

“It couldn't have been any of the people we consider to be suspect. Juan Castro, Joaquin Vanderfield, they're not even on board. So who?”

James was dripping in the bathroom, taking off his clothes, and running the shower.

“You told me that Kelly Fields said Amanda could have been screwing Chef Marty. Didn't you say that?”

Sighing, I told him, “What I said was, Kelly simply alluded to the fact that Amanda could have had her pick of guys. Mrs. Fields didn't feel there was a real good chance that the sous chef was doing it with Juan Castro. I think she said the dishwasher wasn't Amanda's type. So she said that Amanda could have even been having an affair with Chef Marty. It was like, she could go right to the top.”

“Well, Chef Marty is here. On board.” He started to step into the shower, then stopped.

“You know, Skip, she was damned good looking.”

“I agree.”

“But getting her choice of men? I don't get it. I mean, I may not be the best judge of people, but I went out with her and I didn't see it. She wanted your undivided attention. It was almost her job to make you fall in love with her immediately.”

“There are guys who apparently are looking for that.”

“Guys who are desperate. Guys who aren't happy with their lives.” He stepped into the steamy stall, and I walked outside. Chef Jean was rounding the corner.

“Jesus, what the hell happened, Moore?”

“An accident, Chef. That's all it was.”

“Well, he's going to cause more problems than the two of you are probably worth.” He turned and headed back to the main cabin. I watched him halt and look back over his shoulder. “This may have been a big mistake. Hiring you two.”

Six thousand bucks, slowly sinking in the sunset. “Chef Jean,
I just gave you a damned good reason why we should stay on this case. We know who the players are. One of them may be Amanda's killer. Maybe none of them are. But, we're following every lead. We want this killer caught as bad as you and your wife do.”

Bouvier and the captain of his ship, worried about the stain on the boat's reputation. Worried about the news that would by now be Twittered all over the world, and worried about its effect on business and the success of the restaurants, the spices, cutlery, and pots and pans.

I'd been worried about James's life. If there was one thing this case didn't need was another murder.