Murder for the Halibut (15 page)

“When did that happen?” Jordan asked, knowing she was crossing dangerously into mind-your-own-business
territory. “Was it the first time he’d ever had a reaction?”

Thomas’s expression never changed. It was as if he were confessing to a priest and
wanted if off his chest. “Nine months ago.” He turned and nailed her with a glare.
“And no, he knew he was allergic to nuts—carried an epinephrine injector with him
at all times. Usually, he managed to inject himself before his throat swelled so badly
it cut off his breathing and—”

“Why didn’t he have the injector with him last night?” she interrupted.

“I have no clue. I do know he hated anyone knowing he had a weakness, as he called
it. Maybe he didn’t bring it because he knew he would only be eating what he
cooked. For whatever reason, his stupid pride cost him his life.” He stopped to take
a swig before continuing, “Are you getting the picture here? Is it so hard to understand
why Casey and I want to spend time together? She understands me and hated Stefano
even more than I did.”

“What was
her
beef with him?”

He shrugged. “He screwed her over big time when she applied for a job where he worked.
The head chef had been really impressed with her credentials when he’d set up the
interview. But somewhere between that phone conversation and her actual face-to-face,
things changed. She found out too late that Stefano had hinted to his boss that she
was lazy and took shortcuts. Apparently, she was blackballed with all the good restaurants
in Dallas and ended up at the Japanese steak house in Fort Worth—which she hates,
by the way. She swore she’d get even.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a snicker.
“Looks like the bastard got what he deserved, wouldn’t you say?”

He turned back to his drink, allowing her a moment to collect her thoughts.
Holy crap!
Was it possible Thomas’s newborn son was really Stefano’s? As much as she wanted
to ask, she couldn’t make herself say the words. Even she wasn’t that heartless. But
if what she suspected was true, Thomas Collingsworth had just confessed to having
a gigantic reason for wanting to see Stefano dead.

And he had admitted his connection with Casey might be more than just a sexual fantasy
thing. Could they really be co-conspirators in all of this, as she’d speculated earlier?
That wasn’t something he would just blurt out and incriminate himself, even if he
was drunk. But if Casey and Thomas were in cahoots, what was Marsha’s reason for being
in the mix?

Whatever the case, she couldn’t help but feel sympathetic toward Thomas, and even
Casey.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, softly. What do you say to someone who had just admitted
being betrayed not only by his wife but also by a man he’d considered a good friend.
It put his dalliance with Casey in perspective.

And yes, she had been judging before.

She stood. “I have to go, Thomas. I’ll see you tomorrow when we dock in Puerto Rico.”

She couldn’t get away fast enough, deciding it was time for her and Rosie to have
a little chat with Ray. Given the new information, she concluded it was highly possible
that Thomas and the two lady chefs had conspired to harm Stefano. Regardless of Stefano’s
gross failings as a friend, he didn’t deserve what happened to him. Maybe they’d only
intended to take him out of the competition, but the fact remained he’d died in the
process—and Jordan needed to tell someone who was qualified to investigate and would
find out the truth.

When she reached the others, she did a quick scan. “Where’s Ray?”

Lola glanced up, clearly irritated that her conversation with George Christakis had
been interrupted. “Beau asked him to help get his drunken wife back to the room. I
think he was afraid the woman would kill him in the elevator or something. And Emily
went to her room. Said she was exhausted and would see us all tomorrow.” Without waiting
for Jordan’s response, she turned back to the chef.

“Jordan, what’s wrong?” Rosie was beside her in a flash, apparently noticing the intense
frown on her face.

She could almost hear her mother’s voice warning her about girls who frowned all the
time getting crow’s feet
in their thirties. She forced her face muscles to relax, making a split-second decision
not to tell her friend in front of the others.

“I’m fine. Just tired.”

If the whole gang heard the story, she and Rosie would have to admit to breaking into
Marsha and Casey’s room, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet. Confessing to Ray would
be bad enough. She’d fill Rosie in when they got back to their room, and together,
they’d go to Ray in the morning with the new information. She prayed he wouldn’t blow
a gasket.

As hard as she tried to join in the fun with her friends, Jordan couldn’t get her
mind off what Thomas had just told her. Finally, a little after midnight, the party
broke up, and everyone wandered back to their rooms. Since they had only ten hours
on shore in Puerto Rico, no one wanted to miss out by oversleeping the next morning.

In the room, as she and Rosie settled into bed, Jordan recounted her conversation
with Thomas.

“Holy cat lover!” the older woman exclaimed. “We have to go to Ray with this, Jordan.
It’s gotten too big for us.”

“I know,” Jordan agreed. “I wanted to tell him tonight, but he never made it back.”
She shook her head. “For the life of me, I still can’t figure out why Ray had to go
with Goose in the first place. I thought he’d only signed on as head of security for
Beau, not for the whole ship.”

“True,” Rosie said. “But when Goose asked him to go along, Ray jumped at the opportunity.
Guess he misses actual police work more than we realized. That and he’s taken a shine
to Goose.” She sighed. “Too bad the man’s married.”

“I’m sorry. I can see how attracted you are to him. I
also know you would never knowingly go after another woman’s husband, even if the
woman will probably never recognize him again.” She bent over and kissed her friend
on the cheek. “Okay, let’s get on with the plan. The first opportunity we get to speak
to Ray alone, let’s do it. The sooner he knows about this, the better, although I’m
pretty sure both he and Goose are convinced this whole Stefano thing is only an unfortunate
accident.”

“And they’re probably right,” Rosie insisted.

“I agree, but Ray still needs to hear about it. He’s a cop, and cops are naturally
suspicious. He’ll know how to handle it. I don’t understand, though, why the security
tapes from the kitchen didn’t show Casey and Marsha nosing around.” She yawned. “I
wish Alex was here. He’d know what to do.”

Rosie crinkled her eyes mischievously. “Is that the only reason you wish he was here?”

“That and the fact that I miss him like crazy. It seems like he left Ranchero for
El Paso so long ago.” She sighed. “Oh well, our sleuth days are over once we tell
Ray. It will be up to him and Goose to figure it all out. Our only job tomorrow is
to have as much fun as we can in Puerto Rico.”

“Victor said Goose arranged a private tour at the Bacardi factory for all of us. Apparently
he knows the owner and worked it out so we’ll be treated like VIPs.”

“Cool. I’ve been dying to try a real mojito ever since we came on the ship. ’Night,
Rosie.”

She turned off the light and pulled up the covers, but she couldn’t quit thinking
about how Ray would react when they told him what she’d discovered earlier. Knowing
him, he’d probably pooh-pooh her conversation with Thomas, seeing him as some unfortunate
soul with a sob story. She wasn’t so sure.

What if that unfortunate soul had just managed to get away with extracting a deadly
dose of revenge?

Jordan and Rosie met up with Lola, Victor, and Michael on the third deck before going
through security to exit the ship and begin their adventure in Puerto Rico.

“Where’s Ray?” Jordan asked, realizing he wasn’t with Lola.

Dressed in a flowing bright yellow caftan that Jordan had never seen before, Lola
shrugged. “I was asleep when he got back last night, and he was already gone when
I got up this morning. He left a note saying he and Goose needed to make sure nothing
went wrong when they transferred Stefano’s body to the proper authorities and that
Beau requested he stay on board for some reason. Said he’d catch up with us around
three at Señor Frog’s in the main—”

“Oh great,” Victor blurted, a frown spreading across
his face. “Goose was supposed to pull some strings and get us special treatment at
the Bacardi distillery today. I was really looking forward to it.”

Lola cupped his face in her hand. “You didn’t let me finish, my impatient friend.
Ray also said Goose had arranged a tour of the island followed by a visit to the distillery.
The driver should be waiting for us on shore.”

“Hot damn!” Victor said, now all grins. “He’s my new favorite gringo.”

“I thought I was your favorite gringo,” Jordan said, pretending to pout. “You are
such a pushover for freebies.”

“You, my dear, are my favorite
chica
. Get used to speaking Spanish here. We’re in beautiful Puerto Rico.”

“So, where’s Emily?” Rosie interrupted.

“Apparently, she’s with Ray and Goose,” Lola answered. “The note said she’d also see
us at the bar later.”

“By the time they get there, I hope we’re well on our way to a good buzz,” Victor
said. “I talked to a guy last night who’s been on the tour before, and he mentioned
free drinks.” He kissed his fingers. “Mojito, here I come.”

“Strawberry daiquiri for me,” Rosie said, pushing him toward the doorway.

As soon as everyone had cleared security, they walked off the ship and through a building
that opened up onto a blue cobblestone street laced with shops and stucco houses in
various shades of brown and yellow, with teal and butterscotch thrown into the mix.

“Over there,” Lola shouted. “That guy’s holding a sign that says ‘
MICHAEL CAFFERTY
.’”

“Pinch me,” Rosie said. “Is that a black Hummer limo behind him?”

“It sure is,” Victor said, nearly knocking her down to get there first.

The others were right behind him, and after verifying the limo was for them, they
piled in. All talking at once, they got their first look at the luxurious white leather
seats and the minibar to the side. When Goose had talked about making sure they had
a great time ashore, Jordan had assumed he was merely trying to impress them. She’d
expected a bus, maybe even a van, to take them to the distillery, but never in her
wildest dreams had she pictured them in their own limo. The man obviously delivered.

The driver closed the back door and walked around to the other side and slid in. After
starting the engine, he eased into traffic. “I’m Fernando,” he said, glancing over
his shoulder. “Goose wanted me to remind you about the stocked bar back there. It
also has some munchies, so feel free to indulge while I take you on a quick tour of
this wonderful island. We’ll make a few stops to see some of the sites up close. I’ll
explain everything as I drive, but be sure to stop me and ask questions when you have
them. Are we ready?”

“Yes sir.
Muchas gracias
,” Victor said, already pulling out a beer. After unscrewing the cap, he took a long
swig. “Icy cold. Just the way I like it.”

He quickly found the pretzels and salted peanuts, breaking them open and settling
back in the seat while Fernando related the history of the island and its rich Hispanic
culture, and they were treated to the beautiful sights of both old and new San Juan.

As Fernando drove he explained Puerto Rico’s relationship to the United States. “Although
we’re not actually
considered a state, we’ve been United States citizens since 1970.”

“And as such, you vote in our elections, right?” Rosie asked when they’d stopped to
get a better look at a beautiful cemetery filled with amazing headstones, most topped
with elaborate crosses or statues of saints

“We do now, but it wasn’t always that way,” he replied. “Puerto Rico was given to
the United States in the Paris Treaty that ended the Spanish-American War in 1918.
Initially, we were ruled by military governments and then a civilian government appointed
by the president of the United States. It wasn’t until 1952 that we finally were able
to hold our first democratic elections.”

“Wasn’t there a vote for independence a few years back?” Lola asked.

“That’s a good question,” Fernando said after they had all climbed back into the limo
and were on the road again. “There was an election to let the people decide. You have
to understand that forty-five percent of the population here are for statehood, while
another forty-five percent prefer that we stay the way we are. The other ten percent
are either for total independence or they just don’t care one way or the other. Anyway,
the measure failed to get a majority, and for the time being Puerto Rico will remain
a commonwealth of the United States.”

“Look at that huge—what is that anyway?” Victor asked, already bored with the conversation
about Puerto Rican politics.