Steele-Faced (Daggers & Steele Book 6) (14 page)

“If we can make it there.”

We waded through the sea of humanity and up the steps to the promenade deck, then back over to the bar where we’d wet our lips with champagne the night prior. Crowds hadn’t yet packed the space, but I had no doubt they’d be close behind, as I hoped would our poker compatriots. As it stood, only a single member of the crew had arrived, but at least it was the right one: Jimmy, who sat in a corner with nothing but a drink to keep him company.

Shay noticed him, too. “If you want to talk to him, go ahead, but I’d take a cautious approach. Don’t pepper him with questions, otherwise he’s liable to clam up. Or leave. Or punch you.”

“You don’t plan on joining me?” I asked.

She shook her head. “In the little time I’ve spent with him, he hasn’t warmed to me. Not that he has to you, either, but at least your personality type matches his better than mine. Besides, if the two of us go over there, he might feel overwhelmed.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “So what’s your plan?”

“Head to the bar. Get a drink. See if anyone else comes in and play it by ear.”

“Don’t overexert yourself.”

“I’ll try.” Shay leaned in and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll send a waiter over with a drink.”

“Make it two,” I said. “Keeping Jimmy well lubricated is part of my plan.”

Shay headed to the bar, and I worked my way toward the corner, where Jimmy sat hunched over in a booth, resting his forehead on intertwined hands. He didn’t look up as I approached.

“So, I take it you’re not a fan of the opera,” I said. “Or pirates. Or both.”

“What do you want?” Jimmy’s voice rumbled forth, sloppy and slurred. How much of the tipsy had he already imbibed, I wondered?

I helped myself to a seat. “Between your bad luck on the draw of the cards and that spat with Ghorza in the theater, I figured you might need a friendly shoulder to lean on. But try not to lean too hard. As stout as I am, I’m not sure I could support you if your angle gets too acute.”

“If my
what
gets too cute?”

“Never mind,” I said. “That was a geometry joke and not a very good one. My point is, how are you holding up?”

Jimmy lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot. Had he been crying, or was it just a side effect of all the booze he’d slammed down his gullet?

“Why do you care?” he asked. “I’m out of the tournament. I’m not a threat to you anymore. Isn’t that enough?”

“That’s precisely why I
do
care,” I said. “Look, I’m here to make money, not enemies. Ask Theo, or Orrin. I told them the same thing. And now that you’re out, I can risk extending a helping hand without fear of you ripping it off. So tell me. What’s the problem? Is it girl trouble?”

“Girl trouble? What are you talking about?”

“You know. The spat. With Ghorza.”

Jimmy blinked and shook his head, through the action seemed to pain him.
“You think I like Ghorza?”

“Hey, I don’t know,” I said. “Some guys are into that sort of thing…I suppose.”

Jimmy snorted and retreated back into his hands. “It’s not a…
relationship
problem.”

He didn’t elaborate, so I tried to figure out a way to further the conversation without seeming like I was prying.

“Mr. Waters?”

I looked up. A waiter had arrived, carrying a tray of drinks. “From your wife at the bar.”

“Thanks.” I accepted the drinks. I kept the apricot whiskey sour for myself and extended the other to Jimmy. “Whiskey and soda?”

Jimmy looked up again. “You remember what I drink?”

“We’re all poker players. Keeping track of minor details is kind of our trademark, isn’t it?” I lifted my beverage. “Cheers.”

I paused for a moment to see if Jimmy would meet my glass with his, but when it became apparent he wouldn’t, I went ahead and took a sip. Despite choosing not to partake in the toast, the big man did bring the glass to his lips. He hummed in approval and set the glass back down.

“Hmm. Good whiskey.”

“Some of the best,” I said. “Do you take yours malted?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Good man.”

We sat there for a moment letting the liquor seep into our veins, or out through our pores in Jimmy’s case. As the silence stretched, I took another stab at the conversation.

“I hope I’m not being presumptuous,” I said, “but I never pegged you as a loose player. Clearly your bluff worked on me.”

Jimmy blinked. “My bluff?”

The alcohol must’ve been dulling his mental faculties as it had during the poker game. “You know. The off suit jack ten. I mean, it’s not a terrible starting hand, but betting five thousand crowns on it is a bluff in my book. And it would’ve worked if not for Verona.”

“It would’ve worked if not for that
damn nine
that came up on the river. But…argh, I don’t know.” Jimmy sighed and wiped a meaty hand across his face. “I keep playing that hand over and over again in my head. Jack ten. Two pair. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone all in. What the hell do I know? I just…made some mistakes. Not only on that game, but leading up to it. Played some hands I shouldn’t have. Not my fault though. I wasn’t feeling like myself. It’s like I couldn’t… Couldn’t…”

“Think straight?” I offered.

Jimmy lifted his glass. “Yeah.”

“Maybe it was the all the whiskey and sodas.”

Jimmy drained his beverage and slammed the empty tumbler back down. “It wasn’t the drink.”

“All I’m saying is when I have a few too many—”

“It wasn’t the drink.”
He glared at me and blinked a few times. It might’ve been my imagination, but in doing so, some of the redness in his eyes faded. “What the hell are you doing here anyway? Get lost.”

“Just sharing a drink with—”

“Get…lost.”

I knew when a retreat was in order. I grabbed my glass, gave Jimmy a truncated wave, and headed back to the bar. There I found Steele, seated at a stool with a cosmopolitan in hand and with her legs crossed such that the slit in her dress displayed the creamy skin of her calf.

She wasn’t alone. A pair of young men, one human and one elf, both handsome and well-dressed, fawned over her, standing tall, laughing when she laughed, and flashing their pearly whites.

“Well, this looks like a fun conversation,” I said. “Mind if I join?”

“Ah, Thomas,” said Shay. “Meet Bertrand and Fanduil. A pair of fellow opera enthusiasts.”

“Enthusiasts is too light a word, I think,” said Fanduil, unless he was Bertrand, in which case the other young man’s decidedly human parents had played a cruel joke upon him at birth.
“The Pirates of St. Gustifere
has always been one of my favorites, and who would’ve expected such a marvelous performance of it aboard a ship, of all things—although it’s rather appropriate considering the subject matter. Let’s hope we all avoid contact with any Ringlefords, however.”

“What about you, Mr. Waters?” said Bertrand. “What’s your favorite Smotrycz and Gullivan?”

“I’m more of a Frank and Gregg man myself,” I said. “Though I can honestly say it was the most spirited performance of
Pirates
I’ve ever experienced.”

The looks of confusion on the pair’s faces told me my mystery writer joke had gone over their heads, but both were too polite to put a voice to their questions.

“I hate to cut our conversation short,” said Shay, “but do you mind if I have a moment alone with Jake?”

“Of course,” said Bertrand. “Mr. and Mrs. Waters. A pleasure.”

He nodded his head, as did Fanduil, and the pair moved off. They laughed and joked and Fanduil clapped Bertrand on the shoulder in a brotherly manner.

“You know, as I first walked up, I was sure they were here to gain favor with you,” I said. “But now I’m not so sure they’d be interested.”

“Either way, you dealt with it well,” said Shay, taking a sip of her bright red drink.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve had jealousy issues in the past.”

“And I plan to keep them there,” I said. “Besides, neither Bertrand nor Fanduil has quite the same
seasoning
I do. I’m the far tastier treat.”

“Are you saying you’re old?”

“Salt and pepper are the most fundamental of the spices. I hear you’re into both.”

Shay smiled. “Find anything useful?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Not especially. But there’s definitely something going on between Jimmy and Ghorza. I’d bet money on it. Speaking of which, you didn’t seek her out?”

“She hasn’t come in yet,” said Shay. “Orrin arrived, but he’s such a drag. You can’t blame me for choosing to spend time with a pair of charismatic young opera lovers over a bitter, ill-mannered dwarf.”

“Who also happens to be an opera lover,” I said. “Seriously, I saw him. He was fully absorbed by the performance.”

“Excuse me? Mr. and Mrs. Waters?”

I turned at the familiar voice and found our intrepid baggage compartment worker and fellow confidant standing behind me. “James? What brings you here?”

The crewman bobbed his head. “I bring news, from, ah…Mr. Steck. If you could come with me?”

James had resorted to twisting his hands and shuffling his feet again. I didn’t take that as a good sign.

“Very well,” I said. “Lead the way.”

22

“Could you at least tell us where we’re going?” We exited the stairwell onto the bottom level of the
Prodigious
and headed up the hallway.

“I’m sorry, Mr., um…Waters,” said James. “We’ll be there in a moment.”

James had been less than talkative as he led us into the ship’s underbelly. I’d wracked my brain trying to think of what piece of news would be important enough for Steck to have called us to him—the list of people with luggage in the hold, perhaps—but if the implications from said news were so dire, why not come to us himself? And why bring us to…well,
wherever
it was we were headed? It certainly wasn’t back to the hold.

We reached another bulkhead door, this time with a burly crewman standing guard at the front. James gave him a nod, and he nodded back.

James gestured to the door. “After you, sir. Madam.”

“And this is…?” I asked.

“The pool, sir,” said James.

The
pool?
Did Steck have a late night dip planned? I cranked on the handle and let myself in.

Dim light glimmered off the water within, water that shifted back and forth gently in tune to the rhythm of the ship’s swaying—swaying I couldn’t even feel, but my mass was a tiny fraction of that which filled the twenty-five by sixty foot pool. Warm moisture wicked through my jacket and into my shirt’s armpits, and the smell of pool chemicals drifted through the air into my nostrils. Bubbles burbled to the surface at either end of the pool, warming the body of water with waste heat from the ship’s engines. In the center, ripples trailed out from the end of a long pole. Boatswain Olaugh held the other end from the edge of the pool deck.

He was fishing out a body.

Steck stood next to him. He noticed Shay and me walk in and gave us a halfhearted wave.

I paused to rub my forehead. “Not this again.”

“Just when you think you’re going to have a nice, quiet night, am I right?” said Steele.

“Hey, at least the killer waited until after the opera ended,” I said.

“Did they?”

“Good point. Let’s find out.”

I approached Steck and, correspondingly, the body, which Olaugh had nearly pushed to the lip of the pool. It was that of a woman. She was missing her fur shawl, but her jewelry, flaxen hair, and slightly too short dress instantly gave her away.

“Son of a bitch,” I said. “It’s Verona.”

Steck nodded.

“What happened?” asked Steele.

“How should I know?” he said. “Why do you think I called the two of you here?”

“Don’t give me that again,” said Steele. “You know what I mean.”

Steck sighed. “Fine. A couple, those two over there—” He pointed them out, a young man and woman, seated on a bench in a corner. The woman had a towel over her shoulders, and the man rested his arm over it, comforting her. “—came down here for a dip, not fifteen minutes ago. That’s when they found Verona. They screamed, and Wilton came running. He’s the guy guarding the door. He sent for Olaugh, Olaugh sent for me and for James. I sent him for you, and here we are.”

“No one else was down here when the lovebirds arrived?”

“I don’t think so,” said Steck. “Go ask them to make sure.”

“We will,” I said. “But first let’s get Verona out of the water.”

I stripped off my jacket, took off my cufflinks, and rolled up my shirtsleeves. Olaugh pushed Verona against the pool deck and set down the pole. We both knelt.

“Ready?” I said.

He nodded.

We each grabbed an arm and pulled the body out, dragging her to a bed of towels someone had laid out prior to our arrival. There we set her on her back. I placed her arms down at her sides.

“She’s still warm,” I said to Steele.

“No kidding,” she said. “It’s a heated pool.”

“Derp. Sorry. Still, she had to have died recently. What do you think? Within the hour?”

“I’m no Cairny, Daggers,” said Steele. “But based on her complexion…maybe? I can’t imagine she could go for longer than that without being found.”

I turned to Olaugh. “Same question as last night. How often is this place frequented?”

“More often than the luggage compartment, that’s for sure,” said the burly boatswain. “But I’m afraid I can’t give you a much better answer than that. This is only the second day of our maiden voyage. I don’t yet have a good idea of where the guests congregate at what hours. But at this time of night, with the opera and everything else going on in the upper decks? I can’t imagine many people would come down here. Just would be lovers like the pair in the corner.”

“We’ll have to talk to that guy in the front,” I said. “Winston, or whatever his name is. See what he knows. In the meantime, we should check Verona for signs of struggle. See if we can figure out what killed her.”

“You don’t think she drowned?” said Steck.

“If so, I think someone probably helped her along that path.”

I knelt down next to Verona’s body and swiped a lock of wet hair out of her face. With her makeup largely washed off and without the cloud of cigarette smoke, perfume, and better-than-thouness surrounding her, she seemed markedly older—the wrinkles around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes more pronounced and her hair more like wet straw than spun gold. Heavy earrings pulled her lobes down, and the massive, jewel laden necklace around her neck hung askew, giving her an air of sloppiness she’d never had in life. But as for the rest of her…