Murder for the Halibut (5 page)

After boarding, they walked down a long hallway to a room filled with all the people
Jordan had met on the fishing boat and several others she didn’t recognize. There
they began the tedious paperwork required for check-in.

“Here’s the girl who caught the biggest fish yesterday.”

Jordan recognized Wayne Francis walking toward her.

“Too bad you aren’t competing, Jordan,” Michael’s boss continued. “That snapper would
have given you an automatic ten-point advantage today.”

“I’m cooking it, instead,” Casey said. “You’re going to love my Snapper à la Caribbean.”

“Love to hate it, you mean.”

They all turned to see Stefano saunter in, his right thumb heavily bandaged.

“Bet you thought you’d seen the last of me, huh, Casey?”

“One could only hope, Stefano,” she responded, not even trying to hide the venom in
her voice. “Now I can beat you fair and square.”

Stefano’s grin didn’t come close to buffering the threat in his voice. “Over my dead
body.”

“Now, now, folks. Save the aggression for those great seafood dishes you’ll be cooking
tonight.” Wayne turned to Stefano. “The hospital cleared you for kitchen duty?”

Stefano huffed and held up his bandaged hand. “It’ll take more than a lame attempt
like this to stop me from winning that half-a-million-dollar contract.”

“Bring it on,” Casey fired back before walking away, leaving Stefano to fume alone.

Jordan made eye contact with Rosie and hitched her brows before mouthing,
My money’s on the girl.

Rosie mouthed back,
You’re on.

“Hey, Jordan, they need you over here,” Michael called from the other side of the
room.

She picked up her tote bag and headed that way. Halfway there, she stopped suddenly,
her attention diverted to
the woman standing in the doorway. At about five-foot-eight, she had the most gorgeous
spiked, chestnut-colored hair Jordan had ever seen. And it definitely wasn’t the end
result of a Supercuts visit. The newcomer walked over to Wayne and shook his hand.

By this time, everyone in the room had stopped to stare. Mindlessly, Jordan touched
the unmanageable, curly red locks she’d been gifted with at birth—according to her
mother—and was so caught up in hair envy, she didn’t realize Michael was speaking
to her until he poked her in the side.

“Did you hear me, Jordan?”

She pulled her eyes away from the woman, aware that her mouth was still hanging open.
“Who is that?”

“Emily Thorpe. She’s the one who put this entire competition together and worked it
out with my boss to be a sponsor. She’s easy on the eyes, all right.”

“Easy on the eyes is not the way I’d describe her,” Lola said, moving next to them
with Rosie, Ray, and Victor a step behind. “Ray would call her a stunner.”

“I’ll say,” Ray chimed in before Lola playfully slapped his head.

“I get to call her that. You don’t.”

“You have to admit, dear, she could stop a train at a hundred yards,” he added, further
tempting disapproval from his lady. “I can’t wait to see her in a bikini.”

“You old codger. You can’t even keep up with Lola,” Rosie deadpanned.

Ray laughed. “No, but it’s fun trying.” He grabbed both Lola’s and Rosie’s arms and
entwined them with his. “Come on, gals, let’s finish the paperwork so we can get
a look at the upper decks. They tell me there are four pools and six different Jacuzzi
tubs.”

“Seven,” Victor said, following the others.

The group stopped to stare at him.

“What? My back’s been giving me problems, so I checked.”

“You guys go on. I need to steal Jordan for a minute.” Michael nudged her toward the
new arrival.

The woman smiled as they approached. “Hello, Michael. It’s good to see you again.”
She turned to Jordan. “And who is your lady friend?”

“Emily, this is Jordan McAllister from the
Ranchero Globe
. She’ll be judging the competition along with Beau.”

Emily studied Jordan for a few seconds before commenting, “I’d pay a lot of money
to have hair like yours, but I’m afraid it wouldn’t look nearly as good on me as it
does on you.”

Jordan felt the color creep up her cheeks.
Seriously? This woman wants to trade hair? How fast can you say ‘abracadabra’?

“I have to trick my beautician into working on this mop.”

Emily chuckled. “I like your style, Jordan. I think you and I will be great friends
before the week is out.” She turned when Michael’s boss called her name. “Gotta run,
but I’m sure I’ll catch up with you later.”

Even from the back, the woman was stunning, Jordan thought as she watched her walk
away. “Wow!”

“I know. She’s a knockout,” Michael said. “And she seems to have taken a liking to
you.”

“Is she a chef?”

Michael looked at her in disbelief. “You don’t know who she is?”

“Should I? Is she famous?”

“Ah, yeah. She owns ETI in New York City, and from what I understand, she’s rolling
in dough.”

“I’ve never heard of ETI.”

“That’s because you’ve never wanted to be a model or an actress. Entertainment and
Talent Incorporated. She’s a lawyer and has a client list that would make the Academy
Awards seem like a party with her peeps.”

Jordan took her eyes off Michael long enough to glance over at Emily Thorpe, who was
now chatting with Casey and Marsha. Next to her, even Marsha looked mediocre.

“How’d she get involved in this competition, Michael? No offense, but it sounds like
small potatoes next to her day-to-day life, if what you say is true.”

“Oh, it’s true. Wayne was over the moon when she called out of the blue and suggested
this whole contest thing. Seems one of her clients is from Ranchero and talks about
the town all the time. Wayne saw it as a way to drum up listeners for the station.”
He nodded. “It was a brilliant idea. People had to tune in to the station all day
every day for the opportunity to call in at special times and win a chance for a free
cruise as a taster. Our ratings shot up thirty points.”

“I see why Wayne wanted her, but why would she want to do it? It doesn’t sound like
she’s hurting for money or clients.” Jordan paused before adding, “Again, no offense,
but these chefs aren’t exactly celebrities.”

“I hear you, Jordan. I can only tell you that she worked it out to sign on the winning
chef as a client and already
has a TV campaign set up that will make both of them rich—or in her case, richer.”

Jordan clucked her tongue. “Why didn’t I learn how to cook instead of playing flag
football every day with my brothers?”

Just then, Rosie rushed over and pulled Jordan away.

“Come on. Let’s get you signed in so we can take a look at our room and get this party
started,” she said, the excitement in her voice contagious.

Jordan followed her to the counter, peeking over her shoulder one last time to see
Emily throw back her head in laughter at something Casey said. If Jordan hadn’t already
known Emily was rich and famous, she never would have guessed. She seemed so down-to-earth.

So far Jordan liked most of the people she’d met, leading her to believe this might
not be so bad after all. And watching the fireworks between Casey and Stefano could
prove to be more fun than the time she and the gang went to a bar in McKinley to watch
Rosie mud wrestle.

If she could just squeak by without having to eat too much of the fancy food, she
would pull off the con of the century. Dwayne Egan was counting on her to do the newspaper
proud—and it would definitely take a well-executed con to do that.

When the paperwork was finished, they went to find their rooms, which, thanks to Michael,
were all together in the same corridor, perfect for late-night powwows or card games.

The rooms were small but comfortable, and Jordan and Rosie quickly unpacked before
meeting up with the others for lunch on the eleventh deck. Never had Jordan seen so
much food in one place. Nor had she seen so
many people filling their plates with more than they could possibly eat in a week.

Spying a row with nothing but desserts, Jordan felt their sugary pull. She started
that way before Rosie held her back.

“Oh, no you don’t. It’s going to be several hours before you eat again. We have to
get some real food into you before you go after all that chocolate.”

Jordan snickered. “You know me so well. Okay, lead me to the fried chicken.”

She was pleasantly surprised at how good everything tasted. Since the only chicken
available was swimming in some kind of white sauce, she chose spaghetti and meatballs
with lots of fresh-baked bread.

Two chocolate mousses later, she was ready to take on the seafood at the competition,
which was scheduled for seven that night. She’d already figured out how she could
come out of this without totally embarrassing herself. Her plan was to take one small
bite and then pretend to be a little nauseous. A little seasickness would be believable.
Might even garner her sympathy.

With their stomachs filled, the gang decided it was time for a tour of the ship. One
look at the main pool with its huge waterslide and a Jacuzzi in every corner, and
the miniature golf course on the upper level, and Jordan couldn’t help getting excited.
This would be a fun week for all of them. She finally began to relax, mentally promising
to make a genuine effort to befriend all the contestants, including Stefano.

Nothing was going to ruin this trip, not even the Casanova chef.

She gulped. Then why did she suddenly feel like something was not quite right?

Carnation Theater was
huge, and there was already a standing-room-only crowd. The twenty-five people who
had been selected as tasters were seated in the first three rows when Michael led
Jordan to the steps at the side of the stage.

“Why can’t I sit with you and Wayne?”

“Because we’re going to be emceeing the whole thing. Besides, they want you over there
with Beau and George Christakis.”

“Who?”

“George Christakis. You don’t remember?” When she shook her head, he shrugged. “I
can’t believe you forgot that the fabulous world-renowned chef from the Cooking Channel
was going to be a judge with you and—”

“I love his show,” Rosie interrupted. “How in tarnation did you manage to talk him
into this?” She did a one-eighty, squealing when she saw him on the stage. “Ohmygod!
He’s even more handsome in person than he is on television. Wonder if he’s married.”

Victor playfully punched her arm. “He bats for the other team, dear. Sorry.” When
Michael sent a look his way, Victor added, “Not that I noticed him or anything.”

Michael turned back to Rosie. “Apparently, he and Emily are good friends, and she
talked him into coming as a favor to her. Because of him the cruise sold out in less
than a week.” He took a hold of Jordan’s elbow and led her to the steps. “Come on.
I’ll introduce you. I got to spend a
few minutes with him earlier, and he’s a great guy—nothing like the other judge, Mr.
Beau ‘I’m rich and important’ Lincoln.”

“Where is Beau, by the way?” Jordan asked, scanning the stage.

Michael shook his head. “He’s already acting like a spoiled celebrity and barely made
it to the ship before we set sail. Wayne sent one of the workers to his suite to escort
him and his wife to the theater.” He led Jordan to the right side of the stage.

When they were in front of the judges’ table, Christakis looked up and a smile tipped
the corners of his mouth. “You must be the lovely food critic I’ve heard so much about.”
He stood and extended his hand. “George Christakis. I’ve been told I should consult
you for a few new recipes. I spent a little time talking with the crowd from Texas
before I came on stage. They tell me your Budin de Papitas con Pollo would be a big
hit with the New York crowd.”

Jordan laughed out loud as she shook his hand. She couldn’t tell whether he was being
serious or teasing her. Had he figured out that the recipe was really Potato Chip
Chicken (Rosie’s, of course)? She decided to play innocent until she knew for sure.

“Remind me to kiss whoever has been lying to you, Mr. Christakis, but I—”

“Call me George.”

“Okay, George. I’m sure my friend Rosie will be serving it this week, and you can
try it, although I have to tell you it’s nothing like you’re used to.”

He ignored that remark. “Your friend is serving it on this ship?”

“Yes. She’s running a small diner on the upper deck called Ranchero Globe Kitchen
Kupboard. It will be open for lunch only to the judges and the people involved in
this competition. It’s my editor’s idea. He thought it would be nice if she served
some of the recipes I’ve published in my column.” She stopped short of blurting that
they were straight out of Rosie’s recipe files in the first place.

He nodded. “That sounds like something I definitely don’t want to miss.”

She decided even if he knew about the ruse, she couldn’t let him go to the restaurant
thinking he was getting fancy food. “It’s not really gourmet food,” she confessed.
“More like gourmet casseroles.”