“Fries and onion rings, too, if you want,” the chef said.
“And a slice of cake?”
“No,” Suzanne said. “I haven’t put the sauce on the cake yet. It will be good tomorrow. I guess that’s today. Either way, the cake will still be fresh in a few hours.”
She fixed Helen a plate heaped with steak, onion rings and fries, and handed her a lobster salad. “Go eat in the crew mess,” she said. “I have to bake bread and muffins for breakfast.”
“Aren’t you angry that they didn’t eat your meal after all your work?” Helen asked.
“It’s part of the job,” she said, and shrugged. “That’s why they pay me so well. Like I said, it’s their money and their food. If they eat it or throw it out, it’s all the same to me.
“Now, shoo. You have to start work in a little over an hour.”
Helen wondered about Suzanne’s unnaturally calm acceptance. Was it real? Or was she hiding her anger?
CHAPTER 27
“Why were you staring at him?”
Helen heard a man’s voice—raging, demanding, drunk. Scotty? It couldn’t be. He was such a good-natured guest, playing poker, pounding down scotch and patting Pepper’s bottom. Mira had said that he was jealous, but Helen had never seen his surly side.
Now she heard his snarl clear back in her cabin.
“I didn’t do anything. He was our waiter. Of course I looked at him.” Pepper. She sounded frightened.
“You weren’t looking at his face,” Scotty roared. “You were watching his ass.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that.” She was pleading. “You know I love you. Let me show you how much. Let—”
Scotty cut her off. “I don’t want to hear it. I know what I saw.”
Helen stepped into her shower, eager to avoid Pepper’s groveling. It hurt to hear the woman humiliate herself. Helen would hide behind a curtain of water until it was over.
After she and Mira had cleared up the dining room this morning and Helen ate her lobster salad and T-bone, she had only forty minutes before she had to report to work. There was no chance to sleep. A brisk shower would have to revive her.
Helen stepped out of her box-sized bathroom in a cloud of steam and heard, “I said I was sorry. But I didn’t look at him, except as a waiter. Please believe me.” Pepper was crying and begging.
“You’re lying.” Scotty’s voice was a dangerous rumble.
“I swear. Ask Beth. Ask Earl. And Ralph and Rosette. They were at our table. They didn’t see anything.”
“I’m not asking,” Scotty said, his voice a whipcrack. “If our hosts and friends didn’t notice your outrageous behavior, I’d rather they didn’t find out what a slut you are.”
“I’m not a slut,” Pepper wailed. More weeping. Then silence. Helen hoped Pepper would pack her jewelry and leave, but she knew the little blonde wouldn’t abandon her steak-eating sugar daddy.
Helen dressed quickly and brushed her hair, trying to ignore the murmurs and sighs drifting her way. Pepper’s voice was light and teasing. “You know I love you. Let me do it the way you like. Come on. Don’t be a stubborn old silly.”
The silence changed to low moans and grunts. Makeup sex, Helen thought. She shut her cabin door and ran into the mess, where she was greeted by the crew eating breakfast. Sam winced when they shouted hello, and gulped more coffee. His face was pale under the tan.
“Helen! It’s steak and eggs for breakfast,” Matt said. “T-bones, the breakfast of champions. Join us.”
“Thanks. I ate an hour ago,” Helen said. She threw in two loads of towels, relieved that her chattering colleagues and the roaring washers drowned out the sounds of Pepper and Scotty in bed.
Helen heard Scotty whistling when he strolled out to the aft deck for breakfast an hour later. She was glad Mira served him. Helen didn’t think she could look at the man. She’d liked him before she’d heard him arguing. Helen bet Pepper wasn’t whistling this morning.
Her radio erupted. “Mrs. Crowne requested a cleanup in her stateroom,” Mira said.
Helen grabbed her caddy and rushed through the passage, wondering what kind of damage the couple had done during their fight.
“Come in,” Pepper said, when Helen knocked on the door to Paradise.
Pepper saw a bare-backed Pepper sitting at her dressing table, combing her bouncy curls. At first, Helen thought she was naked. Then she realized that Pepper was wearing a pink halter top cut low in the back—and probably the front. Her tight pants gripped her bottom. Pepper will do anything to keep that rich old man, Helen thought, and felt sorry for her.
The stateroom was neat, except for the clothes on the floor and the rumpled bed. She tried to block the picture of Pepper placating Scotty on those sheets. A half-empty glass of red wine was abandoned on the nightstand.
“How may I help?” Helen asked.
Pepper turned to face Helen, her eyes glittering with malice. “I had a little accident in bed,” she said. She walked over, picked up the red wine and poured it on the sheets.
Helen stared. She couldn’t believe Pepper had deliberately poured wine on the bed.
“Fix it,” Pepper said. “That’s your job, isn’t it? I’m going to breakfast.” She slammed the door to Paradise.
Helen stripped the bed while she muttered to herself. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you, bimbo,” she said, pulling off the duvet.
“I hope he screws you blind.” She ripped the pillows out of their cases.
“You deserve to live with Blubber Bucks until you’re so old you have to pay young men to get in your bed.” Helen yanked off the sheets.
“You had an accident in bed, all right. You crawled between the sheets with that cigar-smoking snake.” Helen had stripped the bed. There was no wine on the mattress.
By the time she’d carried the mountain of laundry into the crew mess, Helen decided that living with Scotty was punishment enough for Pepper. When I’m in bed with Phil, I’ll think of you with your flabby old coot. No, I won’t. I’ll think of Phil. My man’s good in bed. You made your bed, Pepper. Now lie in it and grovel.
Helen treated the red wine stains. Mira had said the sheets were custom-made and cost about twelve hundred dollars a set. If she couldn’t get the wine out, would she have to pay for the sheets, too? She’d wind up owing the yacht owners before she finished this job.
Helen still hadn’t a clue who was the smuggler. When Andrei was passed out, she’d missed her chance to search the cabin he shared with Carl. She should have checked the first mate’s bulging backpack. She’d been so sure Andrei was the smuggler. Then she’d talked to Phil and her terrified sister, and her night was consumed by other worries. She was too—
Frantic barks came from the aft deck, followed by a curse, then a crash of glass and china. Apologies poured from Beth. “I’m so sorry. Do you need to see a doctor? Do you need stitches? Can you work?”
Work? Beth was apologizing to a crew member?
Mira radioed Helen. “Come out to the aft deck,” she said. “Help me clean up.”
The outdoor breakfast was chaos. Earl was blotting spilled coffee with a napkin. Scotty was yelling and waving his cigar. Rosette and Ralph had backed away from the table. Pepper had stopped stuffing her face with a blueberry muffin.
Beth, in mustard-colored cotton, gripped Mitzi, who struggled to get free. The poodle wore a topaz collar and had blood on her muzzle. Beth tried to hush her little dog, but Mitzi would not stop yapping at Andrei. She must have bitten the engineer on the ankle. Helen saw blood seeping through his white sock.