“Got it,” Helen said.
“It’s not just the stews,” Mira said. “I’ve known a wife or two who told her husband she was spending the afternoon at a spa. It wasn’t a facial that gave her that glowing complexion.”
Mira folded the last dress, a grimy white formal with a rhinestone bodice. Now she had a stack nearly as tall as she was. “These are too bulky to keep in my cabin,” she said. “I share with Suzanne and we can barely move around.”
“Want to keep them in my cabin?” Helen said. “You can put them on Louise’s side of the closet.”
“That’s very generous,” Mira said. “But I’d better not, in case they have fleas or roaches. Lots of critters in the tropics, and some of them hitchhike home. Suzanne nearly dropped a plate when a big spider crawled out of some bananas she brought on board.”
“Ick.” Helen shuddered.
“I’ll pack these in a waterproof duffel and store it in the bosun’s locker.”
“Aren’t you afraid someone will take them?” Helen asked.
Mira laughed. “If the boys unzip this bag and see ruffles and sequins, they’ll drop it like it’s hot.”
CHAPTER 26
Sam was drunk as a sailor.
At three in the morning, the deckhand staggered up the gangplank with a bottle of rum, stumbled through the aft deck and tumbled down the steps into the crew mess. He stayed flat on his back, not moving. His sun-streaked blond hair hung in his eyes. His mouth hung open.
Helen, who’d been nodding off over a mug of coffee at the table, was instantly awake. “Sam, are you hurt?” she asked. “Say something.”
“Oops!” he said, and waved the half-empty rum bottle in the air.
Okay, his right arm isn’t broken, Helen thought.
“Can you sit up?” she asked.
“Don’t wanna. Room keeps spinnin’,” he said.
Then he sat up and cradled the bottle. “Saved the rum. Save the baby rums. They’re en-endangererer—in trouble!”
“Right,” Helen said. “Let’s get you to bed. You have to get up at six.”
“Cap’n back yet?” he asked.
“Everybody’s here except the owners and guests,” Helen said, taking his arm. “We don’t want them to see you. Come on. Time to go to your cabin.”
Sam grabbed the crew mess table and pulled himself upright, swaying as if the yacht were plowing through heavy seas. Helen put her arm around his waist and guided Sam down the crew passage.
The deckhand was at that stage of intoxication where he loved the world. “You’re nice,” he said. “You got a boyfriend?”
“Yes,” Helen said.
“Thought so. Nice girls all got boyfriends. The good ones are taken. That leaves the bad ones for me.” Sam gave Helen a lopsided grin. “Lots of those. Mira’s a nice girl, too.” He hiccuped. “An’ she has a boyfriend. We’re friends. Just friends. Me and Mira. ’Cause Mira’s a nice girl. She’d do anything for Kevin. She said she’d steal for him, even kill for him. She loves him that much. She tole me.”
“Good for her,” Helen said, sliding open the door to the cabin Sam shared with Matt. The bosun was curled up asleep.
“Sh!” Helen said, and pulled back the blanket on the lower bunk. Sam fell on it, fully dressed. Helen pulled off his deck shoes. By the time she’d covered up the deckhand, he was asleep, his arms wrapped about the rum bottle like it was a teddy bear.
Helen’s radio crackled at her belt and she hurried out before she woke up Matt and Sam.
“I need you to help set up,” the chef said. “Mira will serve and you’ll clean.”
Helen was groggy after nearly two days without sleep, but she didn’t break any gold-rimmed china.
Mira reported to the galley puffy-eyed, her face scrubbed clean, her blond hair drooping. She struggled to hide a yawn.
Suzanne seemed surprisingly alert, as if working in her galley invigorated her. The chef’s white uniform was fresh and her long dark hair was neatly tied back. The galley was far cleaner than Helen’s kitchen.
The late-night feast was ready for the final preparation: The onion rings were battered, the fries were cut and the grease was bubbling in the deep fryer. Thick, marbled steaks rubbed with garlic waited for the grill. The lobster and avocado salads chilling in the fridge looked like pink and green abstract art.
Helen’s stomach growled when she saw them. “They’re gorgeous,” she said, shutting the fridge door.
Suzanne was whisking something in a saucepan with sure, swift strokes.
“Do I smell chocolate?” Helen asked.
“Sure do. That’s a chocolate lime rum cake on the counter,” Suzanne said. “I’m finishing the sauce—it’s caramelized sugar, dark rum and lime juice.”
“That cake looks moist,” Helen said, hoping Suzanne would get the hint.
“It is,” the chef said. “It’s also for the owners and guests.”
It was nearly four o’clock when Beth, Earl and their guests returned. The men’s tuxes looked rumpled and Scotty’s jacket was sprinkled with cigar ashes.
“I’m starved,” Earl said. “When’s dinner?” He’d untied his bow tie and the ends dangled on his pleated shirt.
“I want a T-bone,” Scotty said. “Auto-accident rare.”
“I could eat a horse,” Pepper said.
“Told you that Japanese hash wouldn’t be enough,” Scotty said.
“But it was amazing,” Pepper said. “And I can tell everyone I was there.” Pepper hadn’t lost her sparkle, even at four a.m. Neither had her jewelry.
Beth was glamorous, but a little worn. Rosette looked like a plucked chicken in a designer dress.
“I could do with a nibble,” Beth said. “We’ll have our lobster salads as soon as the steaks are grilled, Mira.”
“The chef says the steaks, fries and onion rings will be ready shortly,” the head stew said. “She’s starting them now.”
“Let’s have a drink while we wait,” Earl said.
The first round of scotches and champagne disappeared faster than water in the desert. The second went almost as fast. Suzanne was plating the steaks, fries and onions when Beth told Mira, “It’s four thirty. We’re tired. We’re going to bed.”
“No food, then?” Mira asked.
“No,” Beth said. “Good night.”
The party rose, yawning and stretching, and strolled off to their staterooms without another look back. Helen saw Pepper heading for the guest head and knew she’d be looking at more cleaning. She stayed out of sight, found her caddy and slipped on another pair of disposable gloves. Sure enough, Pepper had splashed water around like a sparrow in a birdbath.
I’ve either cleaned the last head of the night, or the first of the morning, Helen thought, as she stripped off her gloves and carried the towels down to the crew mess. She’d start the laundry in an hour and a half.
Her radio crackled again. “Help me clear, Helen,” Mira said.
The two stews had the dining room dusted and sparkling in twenty minutes.
“Nobody ate anything?” Helen asked, as she polished the dining room table.
“Not a crumb,” Mira said. “They had too much to drink. Scotty, for all his talk about wanting a T-bone, was snoring in his chair after his second scotch. Pepper had to wake him up to go to sleep.”
“They didn’t even apologize,” Helen said.
“Don’t have to,” Mira said. “They’re guests.”
“What happens to the food?” Helen asked Suzanne.
“Would you like a lobster salad or a T-bone?” the chef asked.
“Can I have both?” Helen asked. She’d nuked leftovers for her dinner. They were delicious leftovers, but that was hours ago. She was hungry.