Deadly Reunion (10 page)

“No. My clothes look horrible next to what you’re all wearing.”

“Nobody cares,” I told her.

“I do.”

“Then you can just stand behind Cealie. She’s short.” Sue stepped to the spot the cameraman indicated. “Come on. Get up here. People are lining up.”

“Right, we want the whole group,” Randy said with a smile, shifting to make room for her beside him.

“Here we go,” I told Tetter. “I’ll stand near Randy, and if it makes you feel better, you can get back there between me and Jane.”

She did as I suggested.

I leaned my head against Randy’s as though we were a couple and smiled.

The photographer snapped our group in various poses. Each time I managed to get between Tetter and Randy.

“Let’s go to that next prop,” Sue said. She rushed toward a female photographer snapping pictures of people next to a huge vase of roses with petals resembling red velvet atop a Greek-style pedestal.

I tried to catch up with Sue, wobbled on my stilettos, and slowed. Randy gripped Tetter’s arm and rushed ahead of me. He took a stance in front of the woman with the camera and kept Tetter close to him. I caught up and squeezed between them.

Our photographer snapped poses and then Randy stepped away from the set. We took a picture with only the women, and all of us started away from the set. A man’s hand clasped my arm.

“How about one of just us?” Gil said, his rugged enticing face down next to mine.

Chapter 9

“Nice,” the female photographer said, watching Gil and me gaze into each other’s eyes.

She didn’t know how nice I felt inside as intimate parts of my body reacted. My urge was to draw Gil closer and keep kissing him.

“Damn, you look sexy,” he whispered.

A flash went off in front of us.

He placed a finger under my chin, lifted it, and kissed my lips.

“That’s a great one,” the woman said, snapping our picture. “Now step behind her and place your arm like this.” She moved Gil’s arm.

He pressed his body against mine. Ecstasy must have lit up my face.

“Terrific.” The woman adjusted her tripod.

Gil blew into my ear. Good grief. The only thing that stopped me from jumping on him was the huge group of people watching, especially Jane and Sue.

I glanced beyond people in our area but didn’t see Randy and Tetter.

“Hey,” Gil whispered into my ear, “did you like your dinner?”

“Fantastic.”

“The seafood tasted fresh, right?”

“How do you know I ordered Seafood Steak?”

He nipped my ear with his teeth. “There’s not much I don’t know about you.”

I smiled wider. “Yes, the meal was fantastic.”

“The Executive Chef hates Cajun food.”

“What?”

“Oops, let’s try that one more time,” the photographer said. “Ma’am, you stopped smiling. Could you both take that other pose again?”

I was no longer in the mood. I shook my head and thanked her.

“Great poses,” Sue told us as we moved away from the camera.

“It looked like y’all already practiced them,” Jane said with a smirk.

“We have,” Gil said and grinned.

“Where are Randy and Tetter?” I asked.

Jane and Sue both glanced around and shrugged.

“Would you all like to join us for a drink?” Gil asked them, his warm hand on the small of my back.

“No, thanks. We’ll see you later, Cealie,” Jane said with a smile. “Maybe.”

Gil led me to a dark cozy bar. He ordered a daiquiri for me, an old-fashioned for himself..

“Now tell me about that Executive Chef,” I said. “What do you mean, he doesn’t like Cajun food? He let you and your chef into his kitchen, didn’t he?”

“He
hates
Cajun food and only let me and one of my chefs grace his galley because my uncle asked him to.”

“Dr. Thurman?”

“Yes. He’s wanted me to cruise on a ship he’s working on so we could spend a little time together. Finally he convinced me when his e-mail said the galley staff would be thrilled to have one of my chefs prepare dishes to offer on their menus.”

“And you believed that?”

Gil nodded. He swigged of his drink the waiter brought. “All of the crewmembers I spoke with said the dishes we’ve prepared are fantastic. It’s only the Executive Chef who doesn’t think so.”

“I’ve eaten a few southern dishes on cruises before. I wonder why the top chef wouldn’t like yours.”

“Possibly because many of the galley staff said they’re thrilled to be learning authentic recipes from the best.”

“Maybe it’s jealousy,” I suggested, to which Gil nodded. “And does the Executive Chef always do things your uncle wants him to?”

“I don’t think so. I imagine my uncle had already told him about my restaurants, and Sandkeep had a difficult time turning Uncle Errol down for this trip.” He placed his hand over mine. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I am, too.” I felt mushy inside sharing gazes with him. The jukebox played an old-time favorite by The Platters. I gripped Gil’s hand and stood. On the dark dance floor, I wrapped my arms around his neck. He drew me tight against him, his desire matching mine for him, although mine wasn’t as obvious.

“I’ve missed this,” I said, and he nodded against the top of my head. A problem sprang to mind. “Gil, you kidded about your uncle being interested in Aunt Sue. And I hate to even think it, but I really am concerned that she might have been involved with Jonathan’s death. Would you seriously try to find out anything your uncle knows about her?”

His phone made three small texting sounds. He read the message. “Problem in the galley. I need to go.”

We left the bar. “Let me know what happens,” I said with a quick kiss.

“I’ll do that. In person.” He ran an admiring gaze down my legs. “Great shoes. I’ve never seen you wear any like those.”

“They’re just some old things,” I said, to which we exchanged grins.

He kissed me again, this time with tongue. I’m sure I drooled. Gil raced off, and I remained in place, enjoying my intense pleasure. Until a slender, bald middle-aged man in flip flops and a tiny red swimsuit with large polka dots stopped in front of me.

“Are you okay? Do you need any help? Can you speak?” he asked, lowering his eyes to the same level with mine.

“Yep.”

“Stick out your tongue.”

I stared at him.

“I worked on an ambulance a little while. You might have had a stroke.”

I had no idea why I might have had a stroke, but if he was trained… I stuck out my tongue.

“Uh-huh, it’s straight. Now tell me your name and where you’re from.”

Okay, I could see where this was going. This man had no affiliation with the medical field. He was trying to hit on me! I couldn’t imagine why since there were many gorgeous women onboard, surely some without partners. Maybe since he was almost nude, he wanted any woman. Possibly he’d want my social security number next so he could clean out my bank accounts.

“No, sir, you are not getting my name.” I shoved my finger in his chest for emphasis. “And you are not going to learn where I live, either.”

“You sure didn’t have a stroke. Maybe a seizure. Do you have epilepsy?”

Good grief, you must be desperate.

“I have nothing you’re interested in.” I stamped away from him. We were near the ship’s aft, where few individuals gathered. Knowing more people would be around its center, I rushed forward.

Passengers dressed in finery milled about, many with drinks, singing at open bars. Others waited in lines to have pictures taken. I saw no one I knew but didn’t glance back, fearing the maniac could be following.

My foot wobbled. My right foot swerved sideways. I no longer felt a solid floor beneath the heel of that foot. The pencil-thin tall heel of my shoe twisted toward my left foot and my right knee turned out. Pain shot like flames up my leg.

I flopped to the floor, landing on my right elbow and hip. Tears struck my eyes.

People yelled. Some knelt to help. “She shouldn’t be moved,” a woman warned others.

I wished I could be left alone, although without pain. The strap on my shoe had kept my shoe on. Without that strap, my foot might have just slipped out of the shoe instead of twisting.

Crewmembers rushed forward. “What happened?” “Don’t move.” “We’ll get you on a stretcher,” various ones said. They shifted me onto a stretcher, the motion making larger tears squeeze out my eyes.

In an elevator, I kept my eyes shut. If I looked at these helpers, I might have started sobbing. I felt like a baby, wanting someone to coddle me. Jolts from my stretcher’s wheels over bumps as we left the elevator and then entered the doctor’s office made me grit my teeth to keep from crying out. A young blond nurse and the doctor waited inside the door.

“Get her to X-ray,” the doctor said.

People adjusted my stretcher to squeeze into a smaller room that smelled of stale vomit and sterilizing solution.

“I’m Dr. Thurman,” the man in white told me.

“I met you,” I said, and he lifted a thick eyebrow. “You were sitting with Gil and needed to leave right when I got there.”

“Oh, so you know my nephew?”

I grinned. “Yes, I’ve known him for quite awhile.”

He tilted his head as though thinking, then glanced at the papers a men who wheeled me in gave him. “Ah, Cealie Gunther. You must be Gil’s Cealie.”

I gave him a broad smile. “Has Gil spoken about me often?”

“We don’t get to talk much with me working on cruise ships. But the way he spoke about you was different from the way I’ve heard Gil mention any other woman.”

“Oh. Has he mentioned many other women?”

“Not at all. Tell me what happened and where you’re hurt.”

“I twisted this ankle.” I touched my right leg. “And fell on my elbow. That hurts, too.”

The doctor faced his nurse. “Would you get some pictures of her right foot and her ankle and elbow?”

“Sure,” she said, and he left the room. “I’m Erin,” she told me and had me fill in a questionnaire. She X-rayed my painful sections.

“Erin, tell me about the man who died after we left shore.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you know him?”

“We met. One of my friends might have been involved with him.”

“Goodness, you need to talk to security.”

“Oh no, it’s my aunt. I’m sure she didn’t have anything to do with his death.” My pounding heart made me want to be certain.

Loud voices came from the front of the office. Dr. Thurman stepped into the room with us and studied my X-rays. “Looks good. I don’t see anything broken, although you could have a hairline fracture that we don’t see.” The noisy office entrance attracted his attention for a moment.

I placed an index finger over my lips and quietly told the nurse, “Shh. Please.”

She gave me a firm look, eyes harsh.

The doctor peered at me, his features so much like Gil’s. “You need to keep your foot up awhile and put ice packs on your ankle. You probably hit what people call
the funny bone
in your elbow, and that really hurts.”

“It sure wasn’t funny,” I said.

“Right. The nurse will give you some muscle relaxers and painkillers for your ankle. They should also help your elbow.” He scribbled on paper and handed it to Erin. “As soon as you get what she needs, come help me please. Another passenger needs assistance.”

“Will do.” She followed him out of the room.

Should I have mentioned anything about my Aunt Sue to the nurse? I feared she’d blab and get Sue in trouble. I didn’t know anything for certain. I was only asking. And my ankle hurt like mad. My hip was sore. Excruciating pain flared up my shin to my knee. I shut my eyes, trying to think of anything but aching body parts.

Gil
. I could think about him. No, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my thoughts around his great body or chefs’ mouthwatering meals, my mind crashed back to anguish. Jonathan dead. My aunt connected? My throbbing bones.

“This ice pack should help,” Erin said, rushing in. She wrapped my ankle with what felt like an iceberg.

“Yow! That hurts more.” I jerked my leg, exacerbating the anguish.

“But it’ll feel better soon, especially once you start taking this medicine. Here are pain pills. This one’s the muscle relaxer.”

“Let me take them now,” I pleaded.

She retrieved a glass of water, helped me into a wheelchair, and gave me the pills. “Someone will be here soon to get you to your stateroom. You can keep the wheelchair as long as you need it. Oh, here’s your other shoe. Where do you want it?”

“Toss it overboard.”

“Sorry, we don’t pollute waterways. I’ll put it next to your purse. Let us know if you have any more problems or questions. Your room steward will get more ice whenever you need it.” She dashed from the room before I could beg her not to mention my aunt to anyone, especially security.

The nurse’s voice carried, along with the doctor’s and those of another man from a nearby room. It seemed the man had experienced vertigo and fallen.

Just like me
, I thought, concerns drifting. A man fell. Yes, down a stairwell. And I possibly could have prevented it.
How?
I wondered, not so intensely worried as I was moments before. Maybe when I saw the way Jonathan and Sue gazed at each other on the Lido Deck, I could have told him Sue used to be Stu—and might still be, at least partially. Of course I had no idea what Sue looked like beneath those clothes with her beautiful curves and long legs and high breasts…and we were having a family reunion on this ship with her being my aunt, and Gil’s uncle, the doctor. And Randy was trying to hit on Tetter, and she complained because she hadn’t worn dressier clothes tonight. Maybe she couldn’t afford them…

“Ma’am, I’m wheeling you to your stateroom,” a man said, waking me.

Somebody bumped the iceberg freezing my leg and holding my foot down. None of that mattered. All that concerned me was sinking merrily back into my dream world, the land of happy places and cheerful faces. I knew mine was smiling as he let me again sink into reverie, the weight on my leg growing into a breathtaking blue-white glacier.

Chapter 10

“Cealie. Cealie, how are you?” Gil’s voice, quite low, followed the deafening drumbeat in my head. “Oh, baby.”