On Tour (7 page)

"No quarter!" Carlos ordered.

We scrambled to the front of the boat for a closer look. "Are those cannons real?" I asked.

"I hope so," replied Andre grimly.

The crowd was holding its collective breath. The masked pirates on the cigarette boat were arguing over what to do. Then the shooter grabbed the handle of the machine gun and turned it in Carlos' direction.

"Fire!" Carlos commanded.

A loud boom and then a plume of smoke erupted from the side of the ship Carlos commanded. A cannon ball hit the side of the cigarette boat with a sickening thud.

It didn't explode like in the movies, which was a little disappointing to the crowd. It did, however, split the boat down the middle like a cracked nut. The machine gun disappeared as water poured in. The men scrambled overboard.

The crowd cheered and clapped like they were watching a reenactment.

"Crazy bastard did it!" Andre muttered as he jumped into the water and raced down the beach to apprehend the interlopers as they came ashore.

With another command to his men, Carlos joined Andre on the beach. Gun drawn, Andre ordered the masked men to their knees. Carlos' men brought lengths of rope to tie up the captured men.

"Wow," Ashley said with a hiccup, "that was really exciting. That's one good thing about hanging out with pirates. They bring their own cannons."

She had a point.

It took almost two hours for the Coast Guard to sort out what had happened. The three captured men appeared to be drug runners working a side job. They were being transferred to Miami for processing.

Carlos was riding high on his triumph at sea. As we made our way back to the villa, he filled in the details of how he and The Brethren had commandeered the working pirate ship when he'd realized the masked men were after me.

Mark was waiting on the dock with Marsha at his side when we arrived at villa. I noted with regret her brilliant red hair and pale, flawless skin set off perfectly by a soft, flowing halter dress of pale peach. Oh, why did she have to be so drop-dead gorgeous?

Andre was rendered speechless. He didn't even reply to her snide greeting of, "Just in case you're thinking about throwing me over your shoulder again, I should warn you I'm armed."

Suffice it to say, their last meeting had not been a friendly one.

Mark started right in on me. "An actual battle at sea?"

I was tired, a little sea sick, and sick and tired of being stalked by a hitman. I didn't feel like playing twenty questions with Mark. "I'm out on a boat with a bunch of pirates. What do you think?"

He raked his hands through his hair. "What were you doing out on a boat anyway? You weren't supposed to leave the villa."

"Wrong," I pointed a finger in his face. "You said not to go anywhere without Andre." I pointed a finger at Andre. "He was there for the sea battle."

We both looked at Andre, who was staring dreamily at Marsha. Oh, brother. I snapped my fingers in his face, and he came back to reality. "Hey, we were in the middle of nowhere. There was no way those guys could have known we'd be there."

"Well, maybe, just maybe, they were smart enough to follow you there! Did you think of that?" Mark's voice rose with each word.

Andre gave him a deadpan look. "No one followed us. The boat came from the other side of the bay. They knew we were coming."

Mark stared at him, the implication sinking in. "So we've got a mole?"

"It can't be someone in the band," I said quickly. I had worked day in and day out with The Brethren.

"Let's not panic." Andre held up a hand. "I'm sure this place is under surveillance. They saw their chance and acted."

"Actually, a mole would explain a lot," Marsha chimed in. "They seem to be one step ahead with only her dumb luck keeping her alive." She hooked her thumb at me.

I took exception to that. "Hey! Maybe it's my instincts and sharp wit keeping me alive."

Mark, Andre, and Marsha stared at me.

"Is it that hard to believe? Really?" I asked.

"Well, my grandma always said God protects drunks and babies." Marsha looked pointedly at the martini glass in my hand.

I gulped the rest and slammed my glass on the counter. "Yeah, well my Aunt Pearl says 'better dead than red.'"

"Real mature," Marsha replied taking a step closer.

I added, "But I think that only applies if the drapes match the carpet."

She narrowed her eyes. "Maybe Mark would like to comment on that."

I gasped at the implication.

We both looked at him. He held up his hands. "I'm not getting involved in your decorating discussion. You're both acting like spoiled brats."

Marsha turned on her heel and huffed off.

Andre watched her walk away with a sigh. "I'd love to get a look at her carpet."

*  *  *

Dress rehearsal was less than productive with everyone still reeling from the sea battle. It was also difficult to practice for an outdoor event inside the villa. Tomorrow's big bash was taking place in the middle of the street. Platforms were being brought in, and special lights were being run for the main stage. We had to make do with practicing costume changes and stage set-up.

At nine, Carlos called it quits. He had rented a restaurant nearby for the rest of the evening and had a bevy of beauties waiting for him. We were all invited, of course.

It sounded like fun, but Mark had other plans.

"Great! We can have Marsha stand in for Diana. Give it a test run."

I made a face. "That doesn't sound fun to me."

"Our goal is to keep you alive right now. Fun doesn't figure into the equation." He gave me a stern look.

"She doesn't even look like me."

"Oh, really?" came Marsha's voice at the doorway. "I think I did a pretty good job considering what I had to work with."

"I helped," Ashley said coming in behind her.

I turned around and gasped. Marsha had donned a long blond wig. She wore a white cotton button-up with a bust-slimming tank underneath and a pair of worn, snug jeans. Her curves were disguised effectively by the outfit and the platform sandals made her height a closer match to my own.

"Impressive," Andre said with unabashed appreciation.

"Close enough, I guess," I replied.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to trip over my own feet a couple of times to keep it real."

"And spill your drink on your shirt," Ashley added.

Mark stepped between us before I could respond. My sister and my arch enemy were in cahoots? Arrr!

Carlos was back, dressed to the nines and in full pirate mode. "Why m'ladies! Am I to escort twins this evening? It's been awhile since I had twins on my arm. Makes quite an entrance." He grinned wolfishly.

By the sudden glazed-over looks on their faces, I could tell all the men in the room suddenly had a life-sized picture of us as "twins" floating through their perverted brains. I looked at Marsha. She shook her head in disgust. Men!

It was the first time we'd agreed on anything.

"No, Carlos. I'm stuck here with Mark."

"Hey!" Mark gave me a wounded look. "I thought we'd have some quality hot tub time together."

There was a terrific hot tub on the deck. It had a waterfall and colored lights. "We'll see," I replied, not ready to make up yet.

"I'll take the other arm, Carlos." Ashley flipped her long blonde hair out and added, "I might not pass as a tall, willowy rock goddess, but I don't think I'll hurt your entrance."

Marsha laughed. "You'll be my mini-me." She stood a full six inches above Ashley.

"More like Skipper to your Barbie." I needled Ashley with an old family jibe that never failed to get her fur up.

She didn't take the bait. "I'm fine with that. Tonight I'm rollin' like a rock star."

I didn't like the sound of that. "You just remember we've got a busy day tomorrow," I chided.

"You know you sound just like Mom." Ashley grinned. "In your face!" She high-fived Marsha.

I turned on my heel and stalked from the room. My sister, the turncoat!

*  *  *

Up to my neck in warm, bubbling water and sipping an ice cold martini, I finally started to unwind from the run-in with Ashley and Marsha. Mark seemed less relaxed as he rubbed my feet and brewed over our possible mole problem.

"It has to be someone in the band," he said for the tenth time.

"My money's on Roger and Phil," I joked. "They've been trying to get rid of me since they met me."

"Well, if that's how you're thinking, then Mrs. Kester should be our main suspect."

I groaned at the mention of my mean, old cuss of a neighbor. I hadn't seen her for months. Mark, on the hand, ran into her on a regular basis while staying in Annapolis.

"Nah, she's too busy making goo-goo eyes at Uncle Grover." The December-December romance that had sprouted last spring had continued to flourish with daily phone calls and occasional visits.

Mark considered that. "She was almost cordial when she yelled out the window last week for me to 'get that damned dog' off her grass. Quite a charmer—I can see why Grover likes her."

I giggled. Mrs. Kester hated Max and made a fuss over where he did his business. Max felt the same about Mrs. Kester and made sure to lift his leg on every blade of grass on her lawn.

"I'm turning into a prune." I waved wrinkled fingers at Mark. "Let's get a midnight snack and turn in."

Mark looked at the time on his phone. "I was hoping to get a report from our decoy."

I stepped out, toweled off, and pulled on a big fluffy white robe. It was so nice, I wondered if I could get away with wearing it around all day tomorrow.

A commotion at the front door announced the return of the revelers. Marsha and Ashley led the way looking quite a bit worse for wear. Marsha's blonde wig was slightly askew, and her white blouse was streaked with dirt. Ashley was covered in a fine layer of dust like she'd spent the evening at a rodeo.

"What happened?" Mark asked.

Marsha glared at him. "I hate pirates!" she shouted and stalked off.

I raised my eyebrow at Ashley. "She had to rescue me from some nut calling me his wench and trying to carry me out the door of the restaurant."

"We thought she was being kidnapped," Andre interjected. "Carlos went all pirate-king on the guy, and the band followed him off the plank."

Carlos and The Brethren were looking sheepishly at the walls. "We might have been a wee bit hasty," said Carlos.

"Hasty!" Ashley cried. "You pulled a knife out of your boot and chased the guy down the street."

"At which point," Andre continued, "the 'pirate' who was actually a motorcycle gang member came back with his posse. There were three police cars at the scene before everyone finally went on their way."

"Marsha was the real hero. She saw the guy go out the door with me over his shoulder and took him down to his knees with a kick to the gut."

A sinister thought occurred to me. "Maybe this was more than just a guy getting too frisky with Ashley. Do you think he could've been trying to kidnap her? Maybe use her as some kind of leverage to get to me?"

Andre thought about it for a few seconds. "Possibly. He did lure Marsha out into the street when she followed him. Of course, he hadn't been counting on getting his ass kicked by her." Andre grinned. "She's something else."

I rolled my eyes. She was something else alright. Grrr.

Mark turned to Ashley. "Did he say anything? Signal anybody?"

Ashley shook her head. "I was upside down, staring at the ground most of the time. We were flirting and dancing together. He bought me a drink. He seemed nice enough."

"He was on his phone a lot," Auggie, the drummer, added. "Every time Ashley left, he got on his phone. Thought that was a little strange."

"So you'd been dancing and having a good time, and then he just scooped you up and carried you out?" Mark asked.

"Pretty much. He danced me over towards the door and then threw me over his shoulder without a word. I guessed he was just your run-of-the-mill bar creep."

"I've spent years dodging them at gigs, and no one ever tried to throw me over their shoulder." I was getting more worried by the second.

Marsha rejoined us. She had changed into boy shorts and a bosom hugging t-shirt. She seemed oblivious to the spike in male libido her attire had triggered.

"What's your gut on this?" Mark asked her.

"I don't believe in coincidences. It felt a little contrived. The fact that he had a gang waiting down the street was way too convenient. I think he was a hired hand. He could've been the guy who drugged Diana."

"The hitman hires out his dirty work?" I asked.

"It happens in some cases," Marsha replied. "How a killer gets the job done is up to him."

"We haven't been able to get much information on The Spider," Mark added. "The name seems to shut people down. My contacts in Miami said he works mainly on the East Coast. He's very expensive and never misses."

"Oh, great." I shook my head.

"One interesting tidbit. The Spider has been around for years. He's been credited with hits in the sixties and seventies. Could be it's a name that's been passed down a generation."

I made a face. "Like a family business?"

Marsha shrugged. "Like father, like son. It makes sense."

So I could have multiple generations of hitmen chasing after me? Not exactly a comforting thought.

I grimaced at my reflection. I promised myself that this would be my last time on stage as a pirate. I was wearing tight black pants tucked into high black boots with a blousy white shirt tied at the waist. My hat lay on the bed next to me. I swore it was laughing at me, the feather all merry and jaunty. We only had one costume change. I would be wearing a wench outfit for the second half. Oh joy.

The street festival was already underway. Pirates had been roaming the streets with the chickens and roosters since dawn.

"You ready?" Mark asked, popping his head in the doorway.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

He gave me a thumbs-up. "Last pirate gig."