Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 01 - Wendy and the Lost Boys (10 page)

I nodded wishing I was home in my own bed with a pillow over my head. I don’t want to do this, I heard me whine.

“Put your headset on. If it fails to operate at any time, hand-signals are okay, but keep them short.”

Fails to operate? I gulped. Why should anything on this helicopter fail to operate?

Her voice crackled through the earphones as she engaged the rotors. “The engine is warmed up. We’re good to go.”

The chopper took off straight up and then dropped along the side of the yacht to about fifteen feet above the water. It skimmed the surface in a big arc for about half a mile before popping to an altitude of a hundred feet. It was a repeat of the way we’d come in on our first day. It was the cloaking device takeoff and landing maneuver. It also made me sick to my stomach.

In what seemed way too soon we were up and circling like a hawk scouting prey. It would have been a glorious feeling except my poor brain was frozen from trying to remember all the widgets and whatnots. I can’t walk and talk at the same time… four friggin’ controls? Forget one and fall into the sea and get my face wet and my mascara all smeary.

“Now for the pedals.”

“Pedals?” I leaned over and looked at the damn things under her feet. Terrific… more things to worry about when I’d just mastered my seat belt.

Jax laughed. “If you could see your face… Relax and don’t try for common sense. There is none in flying a chopper. It’s all about routine, repetition, and response.”

We climbed another hundred feet then Jaxbee had me work some of the controls with her. Scary. The
Predator
was invisible behind its cloaking shield but I could feel Dale’s eyes on us. Scrawny little Nazi. Jaxbee kept us in the air for twenty minutes checking the horizon for suspicious activity. I figured I’d managed okay with the two hand controls, but working the pedals at the same time was beyond my lack of walking-while-chewing-gum talents.

Finally the lesson was over. I felt as if my spine had turned into a Slinky and my limbs had divorced me. We did the evasive landing maneuver, dropping till we were right above the water line for a mile or so before popping up to the helideck. By the time we shut down, I needed a pitcher of screwdrivers without the orange juice. I left Jaxbee to button up her machine by herself.

My legs trembled as I staggered to the salon. I braced myself on the bar, took a dozen yoga breaths, reached for the vodka, and poured myself a water-glass full.

Roger strolled in wearing a borrowed crewman’s uniform, white shorts, white shirt and those brown shoes with brown socks. He slipped onto a barstool.

“Those are the same socks you had on when we left Miami.”

He looked down as if proud of his footwear. “I washed them this morning.”

“You look like a British tourist,” I said.

“Stop picking on my shoes. How did the flying lesson go?”

“How do you think it went?”

He laughed. “I have great faith in you. You’ll nail it.”

I scrunched up my face in frustration. “There wasn’t much time for conversation. The only thing I may learn during flight school is how to fly.”

“I’ve talked to about half the crew so far. No symptoms of radiation, although with polonium they’re not immediately obvious. No suspects yet.”

“What about Dale? He’s obsessed with Hook. They seem to be joined at the brain. He might have resented Marni’s relationship with Hook.”

“I’ll try to get close to him,” Roger said.

“If Dale’s eliminating the people between himself and Hook, Jaxbee might be the next one on his list. Just be careful. He’s gun-happy,” I said right before the room started spinning. Roger helped me to one of the sofas. I curled my legs under me and nodded off. A victim of vertigo and vodka on an empty stomach.

Chapter Twenty-One

I woke with a fuzzy tongue and a fuzzy brain. My toothbrush and a hot shower cured them. Dinner would be served at seven on the upper deck. An hour before, I knocked on Kit’s door. He opened it so quickly it startled me.

“Darlin’s Dudes on the swim platform in ten minutes,” I whispered.

“Roger. I mean as in okay not as in Dude Roger.” He closed his door.

I was the first one of the team to arrive on the platform. Pulling up an inflated tube, I settled my butt in the opening and hung my legs over the sides.

“You are such a delicate flower,” Roger said as he grinned at the way I was seated.

“Backatcha, lover-boy.”

Kit slipped as he stepped on the swim platform. Roger blocked his fall.

A small laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “How do you manage to walk the stage in those six-inch, drag-queen heels?”

Kit flashed a dimpled smile. “I was born to wear stilettos; it’s these flat rubber things that trip me up.”

I patted the tube next to me, and Kit settled in. Roger crouched between us.

“I hope someone has something to report. I came up dry,” I said.

Roger spoke in a whisper. “I haven’t found anyone with symptoms.”

“What would the symptoms be?” I asked.

“If it is radioactive polonium 210, which I’m guessing, the symptoms would be severe stomach pains, vomiting, loss of hair, and high fever. The killer would have to have breathed it in or eaten a tiny amount. The symptoms are the kind you could hide from your crew mates except that you’d be spending a lot of time in the toilet.”

The tube seat was cutting off the circulation to my legs. I scrambled out of it and stood. “Could it be another kind of poison?”

“The last few years, polonium has been the weapon of choice. It’s easy to transport and makes for an ugly death.”

“Where do you get radioactive poison?” I asked.

Roger shrugged. “With the right credentials you can get it over the Internet. It’s produced in Russia.”

Whoa! I thought of the Russian who threatened Croc. Was there a connection?

He continued. “To get sick from it, the killer would have to be stupid enough to touch it with his fingers and then lick them or pick his nose.”

“You said the kids on this ship aren’t the brightest.”

“It took someone with smarts and connections to get the stuff. They had to know how to handle it. I don’t think they’d accidentally swallow some of it.”

Kit remained silent. He never looked up. He seemed to have lost his bounce. This was probably more than his gentle soul could cope with.

“Sweetie, did you learn anything from Roscoe?”

He shook himself as if waking from a bad dream. “Um… Roscoe’s a talented chef. He shared a couple of gourmet tricks with me. Hook doesn’t deserve him. The guy’s from Haiti. He’s a widower. A loner.”

“Think he’s the murderer?”

Kit shook his head. “He liked Marni too much. She spent a lot of time with him in the galley. He taught her to cook a bunch of exotic island dishes. She was trying to please Hook. I think she really cared about the jerk pirate.”

I stomped my feet trying to get the circulation back. “So you think Roscoe’s a dead end?”

Kit clambered out of the tube, stood next to me and gave me an intense look. “We started off talking recipes. I don’t think I can swing him around to anything deeper.”

“We’re not meeting with much success are we?” I asked.

“
You
might try to get into Roscoe’s head. He did like Marni and she was your friend.”

“I’m going to take another lesson from Jaxbee in the morning. I don’t see me getting much except my pilot’s license… it’s too hard to talk in the chopper.”

 Roger flipped his palms up as he spoke, “You need to get her alone in one of those girlie chats.”

Did he take lessons in irritation? “I don’t do girlie chats. And Jaxbee is forever doing something important. Piloting one thing or another.”

I decided to wait to approach Roscoe until tomorrow. Two of us chatting him up in one day might make him suspicious. If he was behind the poisoning, I sure didn’t want to push his buttons. He was preparing all our meals.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Next morning, Jaxbee was at my door ready for my second lesson in the magical art of flying. I knew I had to get close to her, but I had no patience with repetition. We all have our weak spots, and mine was in doing anything twice. I wanted to scream. But instead, I smiled sweetly and tried to open my brain to the mechanics of flying, and then, once back on the ground, I drowned my attitude in vodka, but less passionately than yesterday with only half a glass.

Roger was right. I had to get Jaxbee alone in a quieter setting. I was picking up the chopper lingo, but I wasn’t learning anything about murders or motives.

I skipped lunch, which gave me a good excuse to wander into the galley around three that afternoon.

Roscoe was stirring a big pot of creamy white sauce. “Conch cheese sauce,” he answered my unasked question.

“Smells delicious. Where did you learn to cook like this? You are amazing, you know.”

He shook his head. “I’m just a quick learner.”

“With your culinary talents why are you working for someone like Charlie Hook? This has to be a lonely life.”

“I’m Haitian. I’ve traveled the world taking odd jobs to support my extended family back on the island. When my country was destroyed by the earthquakes, I went back to help my people. My wife, my children were dead.”

Suddenly I felt very weak. “I need to sit down.” I stumbled to a kitchen stool, gripping the counter. Roscoe leaned over the prep table.

“Our army of volunteers worked in a tarp-roofed shanty town housing over 50,000 earthquake survivors. You can’t imagine the misery.”

“Oh, Roscoe. I’m so sorry.”

“God has his reasons.”

“Did Marni know this?”

He nodded. “She loved to hang around the galley. She was always asking how this or that was made. Sometimes I’d let her cook. But we always talked. Yes. She knew about my time in Haiti.”

“Poor Marni. She suffered so. Do you know what killed her?”

His body stiffened and his jaw visibly tightened. “You’d best get topside.”

I had pushed him too far.

“I’ll bring you a lunch plate. What would you like? I have Chateaubriand in a white wine reduction with butter, tarragon and lemon juice.”

“If you’re trying to impress me, it’s working.”

He caught me in those dark, dark eyes and said… “Be careful. Curiosity on this ship is not a good thing. Too many strange things happening.”

That knocked the breath out of me. I dashed up the stairs and waited on the upper deck. Never had I feared or desired anything as much as the luscious late lunch Roscoe was preparing for me.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I survived lunch, so perhaps my imagination had been running overtime. I sensed a good man, someone who cared about people. Roscoe was not a killer. But his lunch was. Absolutely delicious and so rich that it made me instantly drowsy. Would I ever catch up on my sleep? Nap time.

A soft knock on my door woke me. I could tell by the muted sunlight filtering through the portholes it was late afternoon.

The knock repeated.

“Is that you, Kit?” I hesitated to unlock.

“It’s Jaxbee.”

I opened the door and she slipped inside.

She had a duffle bag in her hands. “Here. You’re supposed to wear this tonight.” She pulled out black Capri pants and a black blouse with big puffy sleeves. At the bottom of the bag was a pirate’s hat with a crumpled red plume.

“You have got to be kidding.” I bit the inside of my cheek to be sure I was awake. “Since when do I take orders from Hook? Bullshit.” I plopped down on the bed and flipped the pages of a
National Geographic.

“There’s a pirate festival on Tybee Island and in Savannah. We’re using it as our cover to go ashore. We’ll blend in with the partiers. Come to the bridge in exactly one hour. Charlie expects you to be wearing this outfit. The three of us are going up the Savannah River in a small boat.”

“Why go ashore?” I checked my watch. “Where’s Kit?”

“Wendy, stay cool. Dale’s holding Kit as hostage. You have to go. Hook wants you with us so Croc won’t turn him in.” Jaxbee grabbed my arms. “Dale is ruthless and homophobic. He’d have no problem cutting off Kit’s eyelids and throwing him overboard. He’s that kind of wacko.”

The coppery taste of fear shot into my mouth. Kit was the nicest, kindest person. He’d put his life out there for me.

She patted my hand. “Hook holds all the cards. If you push him, he’ll have your friend killed. All he can think about is the treasure.”

“We’re going to Savannah for treasure?”

“The artifacts Croc was trying to find on the
Predator.
”

I shook loose from her grip and threw the pirate garb at her.

She squared off with me. “The first rule is to never argue with drunks or crazy people. Hook’s not drunk, but he’s so obsessed he’s certifiable. Get dressed and meet me on the bridge. Shower first. If you have any lotion or perfume on, the mosquitoes will eat you alive.”