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  “Oh, good,” Suzanne said. “Hope they’re fishermen. Maybe I can get fresh lobster or fish.”

  “You can buy fish from boats you don’t know?” Helen said.

  “That’s how a chef gets the catch of the day,” Suzanne said. “Local fishing boats bring it straight to the yacht. They tend to overcharge, but it’s always fresh. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

  Suzanne ran out the galley door. Helen saw the fishing boats were moving away from the Earl. Now Helen heard a woman’s voice—it was the missing Mira. She was talking too loud and too fast.

  “I told her she shouldn’t go,” Mira said. “But she said last night was the last straw. Now she’s gone.”

  “She can’t be,” Suzanne said. Her voice was lower and calmer.

  “She took off in that cabin cruiser,” Mira said.

  Louise jumped ship? Helen had to know the details. She deserted her post and ran down the circular stairs to the swim platform on the lower aft deck. Suzanne, Sam and Carl were listening intently to Mira. Suzanne didn’t notice that Helen had joined the group.

  “Louise kept a stash of a thousand dollars’ cash for emergencies,” Mira said. “She said this was an emergency—she had to save her sanity. She paid that charter boat a thousand dollars to take her away. That white one there.”

  She pointed toward the horizon where the cabin cruiser was disappearing fast.

  “I tried to stop her, but she pushed me away,” Mira said. “Louise said she was desperate. I tried to hang on, but I couldn’t. I hurt my knee and hit my head. Look.”

  Mira showed them a nasty scrape on her right knee and a dime-sized bloody spot on her scalp. “She pulled out my barrette,” she said.

  “I think we’d better report to the captain right now,” Carl said.

  CHAPTER 22

  Josiah Swingle was dangerously angry. He did not shout when Mira told him that Louise left the ship. If anything, his voice was lower and calmer. But Helen saw his jaw muscles bunch as he clenched his teeth. That was the only signal to beware.

  The captain called an emergency meeting in the mess while the crew ate breakfast. He looked tired this morning, though his uniform was fresh and he’d taken time to shave.

  The crew was quiet. Their usual chatter had dried up. Suzanne had set out breakfast for the staff. Helen grabbed a tortilla stuffed with cheese, eggs and potatoes, and poured a cup of coffee. She sat down at the table next to Sam. Even after a rough night the young deckhand looked ridiculously handsome. He gave her a tentative smile and scooted over in the booth.

  Andrei sat on the other side, glowering at his coffee. Carl, the first mate, had stayed on the bridge. Suzanne perched on the stairs, ready to sprint up to the galley if she heard anyone come into the dining room.

  The captain stood in the center of the room.

  Mira sat at the edge of the U-shaped booth and recited her story again. “Everyone knows that Louise was ready to quit,” she said, looking around the room for confirmation. “She told all of us she was sick of working on the boat, didn’t she? Well?”

  After an awkward silence, Matt the bosun said, “That’s true.”

  “I heard her say it,” Andrei said.

  “Me, too,” Sam said.

  “I bet she even told you, Helen,” Mira said.

  “She said she was sick of waiting on rich idiots,” Helen said.

  “Sh! Keep your voice down,” Mira cautioned. “What if a guest heard you?”

  “You asked,” Helen said, trying to keep her voice mild.

  “Louise may have complained,” Suzanne said, “but we all do that. She’s always been reliable. I don’t believe she left. She might quit when we got to Atlantis—like the stew Helen replaced—but I can’t see Louise leaving us in the lurch.”

  “You didn’t work with her the way I did,” Mira said. “Louise said the storm was the last straw. She knew we had at least ten hours of sailing today. She said she couldn’t stand this yacht another minute. She was afraid she might hurt herself—or a guest.”

  Josiah Swingle was a judge listening to the arguments. Now he spoke for the first time since he asked Mira to give her account. “Why would a lone woman with a lot of cash go off on a strange boat in a foreign country?” he asked. “It’s dangerous.”

  “It wasn’t risky,” Mira said. “She left on a fishing charter boat that operates out of Miami. The captain was anchored in the same cove as us. He was heading home and happy to have the extra money.”

  “What was the name of this boat?” Josiah asked.

  “Aces High,” Mira said. “It docks at the Miami Beach Marina with the other fishing charters.”

  “Describe it,” the captain said.

  “Typical charter fishing boat,” she said. “Hatteras cabin cruiser, white with a tuna tower. Maybe thirty feet long. Well cared for. I don’t know the size of the crew, but the captain said he had a party of four fishermen aboard. I think Louise saw the boat, flagged them down and offered the captain cash to take her home. I heard voices and came down to the swim platform. Louise was boarding the boat. She’d already handed her duffel to a crew member. I tried to stop her and that’s when she fought me. Suzanne heard the commotion upstairs. By the time she came down, the boat was gone. Carl was there, too.”

  “I’ll tell the Bahamian custom agents,” the captain said.

  “Will this make trouble for us?” asked Andrei, the first engineer.

  “I don’t think so,” Josiah said. “I haven’t cleared her into the country.

  “Back to work, everyone. We’re all behind schedule. The owners are going to customs at eight o’clock. I’ll go with them. We have to present ourselves in person. You’ll leave here at eight fifteen so I can clear in the crew.”

  The captain stalked off toward the bridge and the crew got their orders from their immediate supervisors.

  “Helen, we have to do Louise’s work as well as ours,” Mira said. “Start the laundry, then go to the galley and help serve breakfast. The men are awake and out of the sky lounge, so I’ll start cleaning it.”

  Mira was taking on a tough job, Helen thought. Scotty and his cigars left more ash than a volcanic eruption. She put her breakfast plate and cup in the crew galley dishwasher, threw two loads of towels in the washer and ran upstairs to the coffee- and cinnamon-scented galley. The chef seemed content in her kingdom.

  “Finish setting up for breakfast,” Suzanne said. “The guests could show up any moment—at least I hope so. They have to go through customs early if we’re going to make Atlantis today.”

  Suzanne had prepared a buffet with colorful fruit salad in melon bowls, baskets of fresh-baked bread and muffins, bowls of Greek yogurt, granola, steel-cut oatmeal, crisp bacon, plump sausages and fried potatoes.

  “All you need is an ice sculpture and you’ll have a buffet big enough for a cruise ship,” Helen said.

  The chef peeled the tape off the cabinets and removed the Bubble Wrap that kept the china from shifting during the storm. Helen saw at least four sets of china.

  “What service should I use?” she asked.

  “The Spode Stafford Flowers on that lower shelf.” Suzanne handed her a plate with delicate flowers and a scrolled gold rim.

  “Pretty,” Helen said.

  “I’ll say. It’s eight hundred a place setting,” she said. “We only bring it out when the sea is calm.”

  “My hands tremble at the thought of carrying it,” Helen said.

  “Just be glad you don’t have to serve a formal dinner. Missus likes to use her Royal Copenhagen Flora Danica. That’s seven thousand a place setting.”

  “I could trip and wipe out a year’s wages,” Helen said.

  The footsteps on the guest staircase silenced their conversation. A rumpled, red-eyed Scotty staggered into the galley, trailing wisps of cigar smoke. He’d changed into fresh clothes, but still smelled like stale stogies.

  “Got any coffee?” he asked. Exhausted by those three words, he sat in the dining
room. Earl and Ralph followed a little later. Earl managed one word: “Coffee.” Ralph grunted. Helen wasn’t sure if that was a command or a greeting.

  After a coffee infusion, the men ordered hearty meat-and-cheese-stuffed omelets with sausage, bacon and fried potatoes. Helen delivered the food without a mishap.

  “Got any hot sauce, Chef?” Earl asked.

  “Six kinds,” Suzanne said. “Louisiana Hot Sauce, Tabasco sauce, Scorned Woman—”

  “Stop! I’ll take Scorned Woman,” Earl said. “Don’t bother with a sissy bowl. Serve it straight from the bottle.”

  Helen watched Earl drown his omelet in the fiery brownish sauce.

  “Jeez, Earl, is your mouth lined with asbestos?” Scotty said.

  “Best cure for a hangover I know,” Earl said as the sweat broke out on his forehead.

  “The best cure I know is to keep drinking,” Scotty said.

  All three men abandoned their breakfasts after a few bites. After two cups of coffee, Scotty was alert enough to ask, “Why are we anchored? This isn’t Atlantis.”

  “Change of plans,” Earl said. “Captain got a warning about a waterspout last night and dropped anchor off Bimini. We have to go through customs at Alice Town when they open at eight. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to Atlantis this evening.”

  “Think we better wake up the girls?” Scotty asked.

  “Yap!” Mitzi said, and all three men winced.

  “Beth is here,” Earl said.

  Beth was a vision in an indigo linen pantsuit and a heavy Native American squash-blossom necklace. Languidly beautiful, she rolled Mitzi in an aqua stroller and parked it beside her chair. The poodle wore a silver squash-blossom collar studded with dark blue lapis.

  Mitzi yapped again and Beth saw her husband frown. She cooed at the little poodle and fed her organic chicken and rice from a Spode bowl.

  Rosette, thin and dried as a strip of leather, showed up about seven fifteen in a nautical striped top and linen pants. She played with her oatmeal. Beth squeezed lime juice on a mango and tortured it while she stuffed Mitzi with food to keep her quiet.

  Everyone drank gallons of coffee, but nobody was hungry, except Pepper. She arrived at seven thirty, looking outrageously fresh in a white off-the-shoulder top and tight emerald green pants.

  Pepper cheerfully attacked three fried eggs, bacon and half a loaf of toast. “I feel really good this morning after barfing my guts out all night,” she said.

  Beth and Rosette glared at her but said nothing.

  Scotty smiled his approval. “Good, you’re up early,” he said.

  “I’m wearing my green outfit so we can go emerald shopping this morning,” Pepper said.

  “We’re not shopping this morning,” Scotty said.

  Pepper’s face fell and her candy pink lower lip trembled.

  “We’ll get your emeralds,” Scotty said, gnawing on his cigar, “but the captain had to anchor in Bimini last night because the storm was so bad. We’ll go through customs here at Alice Town. Because you’ve been a good girl, I’ll buy you a bracelet and a necklace.”

  Pepper squealed and hugged Scotty. He patted her round bottom. Rosette looked as disgusted as Helen felt. How could a woman stand being treated like a child? she wondered. Maybe the little-girl act was worth a lot of grown-up jewelry.

  At seven forty-five, the captain appeared. Earl stood up. “Customs opens at eight. Let’s get moving,” he said. “When do we get to Atlantis, Captain?”

  “If we get back to the boat by nine,” Josiah said, “it will take about half an hour to pull up the anchor and start the engines. If we’re lucky, we’ll be in Atlantis by seven thirty tonight.”

  “So we can shop for emeralds today!” Pepper said.

  “And have dinner at ten at Atlantis,” Beth said. “Mira, will you make reservations at Nobu for us?”

  “What the hell’s Nobu?” Scotty asked.

  “Nobu Matsuhisa has like the hottest Japanese restaurants in the world,” Pepper said. “We’re lucky Atlantis has one.”

  “I don’t want Japanese hash,” he said. “I want real food.”

  “You can still get your boring old steak,” Pepper said. “But please, can’t we go? I was so sick during that awful storm.”

  “And you can have steak for lunch, Scotty,” Beth said.

  “Time’s a-wasting, people,” Earl said. When he herded his guests down the gangplank, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Fifteen minutes later, Carl led the crew through customs.

  On the short walk, Helen straggled behind the others, puzzling over Louise’s behavior and the captain’s question: Why would a lone woman get on a strange charter boat with a purse full of cash? She didn’t believe in blaming the victim, but that seemed like an invitation to rape and murder.

  The soft Bahamian air, the warm April sunshine and Alice Town’s tiny yellow, red and aqua buildings were a pleasant distraction. Helen loved the Bahamian voices—light, soft and musical with a hint of clipped British vowels.

  At the customs shed, a Bahamian agent gave an official smile. “Welcome to Alice Town, Captain Swingle,” he said.

  “Glad to be here,” he said. “I heard the waterspout advisory and found a safe harbor here last night. One of my crew was so shaken by the rough seas she went back on another ship.”

  Now the customs agent’s smile vanished. “What is this woman’s name?” he asked.

  “Louise Renee Minette, of Fort Lauderdale,” the captain said. “She’s traveling back on a fishing charter operating out of Miami Beach, Aces High.”

  “I do not remember any woman passenger aboard a charter boat by that name this morning,” the official said. “I will check the records. The charter can legally pick her up and take her back, but that captain has to clear her out of our country. If he did not, we will send customs agents after him.”

  Good, Helen thought. We’ll know when Louise gets back to the USA—or if she doesn’t.

  “No worries, Captain,” the official said. “She is not your responsibility anymore.”

  Josiah Swingle smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

  CHAPTER 23

  “It’s so big,” Pepper squealed. “I forgot how big it is. Especially from this angle.”

  Mira was right, Helen thought. You could hear everything on the yacht—whether you wanted to or not. She eavesdropped while she collected empty Baccarat flutes as the yacht cruised into Atlantis.

  Sunset stained the channel’s wide pearly water a luscious pink. Helen and Mira had been serving drinks and appetizers for nearly three hours. Beth and Rosette took well-bred sips and nibbles. Pepper attacked the puff pastries and chicken skewers as if she’d been marooned on a Bahamian island.

  Scotty had spent the afternoon playing poker and pounding scotch. He was a genial drunk. He called Pepper “my lucky lady” and sat her on his knee. Pepper’s top was smudged with cigar ash, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “As soon as we dock, we’ll go shopping, just the two of us,” he told her. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me and went on the yacht?”

  “No. I hurled all night,” Pepper said, and treated him to a delectable pout. “But this is awesome.”

  Helen heard Rosette snort. “Awesome,” she muttered to her husband. “Only that brainless nitwit would say ‘awesome.’”

  But Atlantis was awesome against the seashell pink sky. The monumental marina with its soaring granite walls and bronze dolphin sculptures could have been built by a god.

  The Atlantis resort and casino is on Paradise Island, once called Hog Island. That name wouldn’t do when Huntington Hartford, the A&P heir, bought the property: Pigs and groceries were a bad combination. He rechristened it Paradise and the name stayed even after he was gone. This earthly Paradise provided the fabulous sugar-sand beaches and clear aqua water for such movies as Thunderball and the Beatles’ Help!

  Only the rich were allowed into Hog heaven. The marina handled yachts up to 240 feet long and banned boats
under 40 feet. In this company, the Belted Earl was only a midsized yacht. Helen thought the Earl, with its elegant curved hull, was handsomer than the tubby mega-yachts.

  As the ship grew closer, they were hailed by a muscular dark-skinned man in a yellow speedboat.

  “It’s Action Jackson!” Mira cried. “He’s the Bahamas’ unofficial greeter.”

  Jackson was a bullet-headed man in a bright red cap who’d crowned himself the Limbo King of the Bahamas. He offered to take everyone on a tour.

  “What fun!” Pepper said. “Let’s go. We can meet the natives!”

  “Don’t encourage that revolting man,” Rosette said. “Can’t you do something about him, Earl? He’s dirty and so is his boat. Look. He’s attracting more vermin.”

  Now the yacht was surrounded by a flotilla of little boats offering pink conch, yellow bananas and hairy brown coconuts.

  Helen didn’t think Jackson was dirty. She liked his Bahamian lilt. Mira called Carl, the yacht’s second-in-command, on the radio.

  The white-uniformed Carl was nearly six feet tall, with a round, open face, shrewd eyes and no-color hair. He looked like the Western hero’s best friend. He was under thirty and already developing sailor’s sun wrinkles.

  He climbed down to the swim platform. Action and the swarm of small boats followed him. Carl seemed to be talking more to another boat captain in ragged shorts and a faded T-shirt. Helen caught a few phrases: “not a good time” … “come back” … “you need to hide.”

  Hide? she wondered. Hide what? Did Carl tell someone on a little red boat, “See you ashore”? That couldn’t be right.

  Action left with a flash of his wide, white smile and a wave of his thick brown arm, and the smaller boats followed. Carl climbed back up to the guests.

  “They’re gone, Mrs. Randolph,” he said.

  “Thank goodness,” she said. “With the crime rate in Nassau, I don’t know why those people are allowed to approach yachts in the harbor.”

  “It would have been fun to limbo,” Pepper said.

  Scotty wrapped her in a bear hug. “But not as much fun as buying emeralds. Are you ready? We go as soon as the ship docks.”