A coffee cup and Baccarat glasses were overturned. Mira was carrying away a platter of bacon swimming in orange juice.
“For chrissakes, shut that damned dog up,” Earl said, his voice tight with fury.
“I don’t know what got into Mitzi,” Beth babbled. “She’s never bitten anyone. Ever. She’s such a good dog.”
She still is, Helen thought. And a brave one. Mitzi had attacked the man who’d kicked her. The blood spot on Andrei’s sock was the size of a quarter, but he acted as if he’d been savaged by a pit bull.
“Perhaps I should see a doctor,” he said. “For stitches. Or a shot. Sam or Matt can take me.”
“They have to clean the boat, Andrei.” Carl, the first mate, had been called to the crisis. “I can put a Band-Aid on it. Doesn’t look like such a little dog could do much damage.”
“She did,” Andrei said. “She has powerful jaws.”
Mira, who was clearing more plates, snorted and tried to turn it into a cough.
“I can’t spare anyone to take you to a clinic,” Carl said.
Beth put her hand over Mitzi’s mouth to silence her barks and growls. Was she worried Earl would banish the dog from the yacht?
“Atlantis has a hotel doctor,” Beth said. “They can take care of you. Mira, call the hotel and have them send a cart to fetch Andrei. You can ride in a golf cart, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Andrei said, a little too cheerfully. He turned his face back into a mask of pain. “I’ll manage.”
Helen gathered up the coffee cups and carried them into the galley.
“May I bring you any more food?” Mira asked the guests. “Would you like fresh coffee? Juice?”
“I want to head to the casino,” Scotty said. “What about you, boys?”
“I’ll take the girls to the spa as soon as I speak to Suzanne,” Beth said. “Helen, are you afraid to watch Mitzi?”
“No, she’s a good dog,” Helen said. She carried the poodle into the galley and fed her a peanut butter treat, while Beth relayed her instructions to the chef. “We’d like lunch at three o’clock. Make something local, Suzanne.”
The guests and owners never returned for Suzanne’s lunch of Caribbean lobster curry. But they did turn up at eight that night with four friends from another yacht, expecting dinner for ten.
Somehow, Suzanne made the food appear. The crew ate the lobster curry for dinner, and Earl and Beth’s guests raved over the chef’s spiced pork and pigeon peas and rice.
The day passed in a blur of work for Helen. While she cleaned staterooms and heads and folded laundry, she tried to make her sluggish brain run through the list of possible smugglers.
Andrei was out. Helen had watched Mira unpack the costumes, so it wasn’t the head stew. Sam didn’t seem to think about anything but rum and girls.
Dick the second engineer kept to himself. He was worth watching. So was Matt the bosun. And Suzanne. The chef brought boxes and bags aboard every day they were in port. It would be easy to hide the emeralds in those packages. She had five days to accumulate a stash.
As the day dragged on, Helen got her second wind—and an inspiration. Mira said that Louise had jumped ship carrying a bag.
Helen thought it was risky to board a strange fishing charter. But what if Louise already knew the captain? That was the easiest way to get those emeralds into the States. Especially if Louise knew Captain Swingle was on to her.
The missing second stew would be easy to find. Bahamian officials were pursuing her. Captain Swingle had her Fort Lauderdale address.
Once Louise arrived, Helen and Phil could track her down.
CHAPTER 28
“The girls are tired of champagne,” Beth said. “What else can we serve for cocktails, Suzanne?”
Helen nearly dropped her duster when she heard that request. She was cleaning the plantation shutters in the main salon while Beth planned tonight’s dinner with the chef. Bored with champagne: That seemed to sum up life on a yacht.
Beth looked like a tall, cool flute of champagne with her golden hair, pale gold silk caftan and glowing topaz jewelry. Mitzi wore a matching jewel-studded collar.
“Something island-y,” Beth prompted the chef.
“I could make planter’s punch,” Suzanne said, “or strawberry rum sliders.”
“Sliders look pretty,” Beth said. “Let’s do those. I want a special dinner, a real taste of the Caribbean.”
“We could start with salmon tartare, made with fresh Atlantic salmon,” the chef said.
“No, Scotty complained about the sushi at Nobu. Better go with a cooked appetizer.”
“How about seared scallops with fingerling potatoes and then callaloo soup?” Suzanne asked. “We’d need meat for the main course. Niman beef tenderloin with mushrooms.”
“Very festive,” Beth said. “The boys will like the beef, but the girls will want chocolate for dessert.”
“A bittersweet chocolate soufflé with cinnamon and caramel sauce,” Suzanne said.
“Perfect,” Beth said. “Have Mira call the dockmaster’s office for flowers. Don’t let the florist make the table arrangements too tall. I want my guests to see one another when they talk. Use the candles and my best china, the Royal Copenhagen. Dinner at eight, then.”
Mitzi yapped a greeting when she saw Helen, and Beth smiled at the lowly stew. “Oh, Helen, watch Mitzi while we shop,” she said. “Look how she runs straight to you. No, no! Mitzi, that’s the carpet, not your puppy pad. Oh, well, looks like you don’t have to walk her after all. See you at eight.”
She sailed out, oblivious that her dog had whizzed once more on a custom-made carpet and that Helen would have to clean it on her hands and knees. Mitzi rubbed her nose against Helen’s forehead while she attacked the spot with an enzyme cleaner.
“It’s a good thing I like you, pooch,” she told the dog. “Otherwise, I’d drop-kick you over the side.”
Mitzi wagged her tail.
The last few days had passed in a blur of work. Helen had cleaned the heads and staterooms and done laundry. She’d checked the bilges and talked to her coworkers, hoping to find out something, anything, that would help her find the emerald smuggler.
Helen was grateful she’d have turndown service and head cleaning tonight, instead of serving Beth’s grand dinner on seven-thousand-dollar-a-setting china. She was so tired, she was sure she’d break something. She felt like she was sleepwalking as she mopped the floor in the Bimini stateroom head. Mira popped in and screamed, “What are you doing?”
Helen was instantly awake. She knew she was using the right cleaner for marble. She’d checked. “Mopping the floor,” she said.
“You never put a bucket of soapy water on a marble floor,” Mira said. “Never. It leaves a ring.” She snatched up Helen’s bucket and moved it to the commode lid.
“There,” she said, and managed a smile. “No harm done. I caught it in time. I stopped by to give you our good news. The yacht owners and their friends will spend all day tomorrow at Atlantis. They’re letting the crew take the tender and the toys—the Jet Skis and the WaveRunners—to a cove where we can swim and play.”
“Wonderful,” Helen said.
“We need to have all our work finished before noon tomorrow.”
“Sounds like fun, but I’ll stay on the boat,” Helen said. And call Phil and search for those emeralds, she thought.
Mira looked disappointed. “Oh, Helen, you need your fun or you’ll burn out,” she said. “The only way we stand these brutal hours is if we get to play.”
“You go ahead,” Helen said. “I need my rest, too.” She faked a yawn.
“How much rest?” Mira asked. “Do you want to sleep the whole afternoon or would you like to make a little extra money? Andrei and Carl always pay a stew to clean their cabin. Louise did it, but she’s gone. You’d be doing me a favor if you took the job.”