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“Who told you this crap was supposed to make us feel better?” Dottie complained as she grimaced and swallowed her fruit juice concoction. “This stuff is vile. I’d prefer whiskey any day to this — or my sherry,” she said as she offered Mic a pointed look.
Mic laughed and said, “Come on, Dottie, it’s got all kinds of good stuff in it, pomegranates, kiwi, vitamins and minerals, an energy booster, and a few electrolytes.” She cocked her head and continued, “What is it about you that you never want to do anything that’s good for you or your body?”
Dottie glared at her. “What are you talking about? I do a lot that’s good for my body. I go to the gym, walk three miles every day, and swim. I could flatten your ass any day. Besides, your health shakes are best described as hell shakes,” she said and grimaced again as she took another sip.
Mic rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. The two women sat in the shade under a canopy behind the pool, as far away from the band as they could get. “Just give yourself a break and do something for your digestive tract,” Mic suggested. “All we’ve done for three days is eat.”
Dottie tossed her head angrily, her silver white hair askew, and asked, “What makes you so sure this is good for us? If anything, I think it’ll keep me on the toilet all night. It’s some of the worst stuff you’ve ever given me,” she moaned, “and honestly, you’ve given me some despicable concoctions in the name of good health over the years.”
Michaela laughed again. “That’s okay. Don’t drink it. We’ll switch to Irish whiskey after dinner. We aren’t going out for dinner are we?” she asked with a hopeful look on her face.
“I never said that. I said we weren’t dressing elaborately for dinner. It’s formal night and everyone else is dressing up. I thought we’d go and eat at the Italian restaurant on deck nine,” she said as she looked at Mic out of the corner of her eye.
Mic clamped her teeth. “I don’t want to get dressed. I want to wear my pajamas and call room service. They’ve got a pretty good menu. Want to do that and work on the case?” she cajoled.
“Oh, Michaela, why don’t you want to go and eat Italian food?” Dottie asked heatedly as she waved her arms in the air. “The chef up there is excellent. You’re aboard a ship, and when you’re aboard, you eat like a savage, all the time! Everyone does. The chef was trained at the culinary school in Rome and his Italian sauces are world renowned.” Dottie was practically begging Mic to go to dinner.
Mic shrugged her shoulders and said, “Why don’t we just go up to the Lido deck? It’s never too crowded there later in the evening.”
Dottie’s face fell in disappointment. “I hate eating up there. I feel like a mouse scurrying around in a food fight... everybody butts in line, and pushes in front of you... I hate that. I’d rather do room service,” she said dismally.
For a moment, Mic felt guilty and said, “Okay, we’ll eat at Angelo’s. I’ve heard their food is good. Do we need reservations?”
Dottie gave Mic a sneaky look and said, “We already have them. For eight this evening,” Dottie gloated as she pushed the remains of her health shake away. “I’m not drinking this.” She examined her glass and held it up to the light. “Look at this stuff. It’s turned into clumps of goo and it’s probably gonna take a pickaxe to get it out of the glass.” She picked at the hardened fruit drink with her beautifully manicured fingernail. “This stuff is stuck like cement. Can you imagine what this looks like in your stomach?”
Mic shook her head and reached for the glass pitcher that held the health shake.
“Take that to your suite. You finish it. I’m gonna lie down for a while before I dress for dinner,” she said in her tired, bossy voice. “Call me at 6:30 just in case I don’t get up on my own. If I don’t show up, it’s because your health shake killed me,” she moaned as her hand rubbed her stomach.
Mic stood, grabbed the shake, and said, “Okay, I’ll call you at 6:30, pick you up at 7:45, and we’ll walk up to Angelo’s.” She walked with Dottie to her room and watched her crawl into her king-size bed. “Get some rest and, Countess, if you’d drink your entire health shake, you’d be ready to walk the deck you’d be so energized,” Mic scolded, a sly smile on her face.
Dottie frowned and said, “If I drank that entire hell shake, I’d be ready to walk the plank. You know better, Michaela. You’re just like Cookie — she’s always making me these damned health drinks at home and I pitch them in the garbage disposal the first chance I get.”
Mic shook her head, “If you would listen to us, you’d probably feel a lot better,” she said as she flashed a dour look at her.
Dottie sat straight up in bed. “If I listened to you and Cookie, I’d have died ten years ago and both of you know it. I’m eighty-two-years old and I could probably beat either of you at just about anything,” she said, a smirk on her face. “And, just how many times have I saved your life? Tell the truth.”
Mic smiled and ignored her question. “Whatever you say, you tough old bird. I’m leaving. Get some rest I’ll see you in a couple hours.”
Dottie flipped over in bed, her back to Mic and said in a muffled voice, “Okay. Get out of here and let an old lady rest.”
Mic shut the door of the countess’s suite and laughed. Dottie was right. At eighty-two years of age, she was amazing. She could bench press her weight and walk three miles without looking back. She swam miles in her pool every single day. She was in extraordinary shape for someone her age. But still, Mic worried about her. Dottie was her dear friend and like a grandmother to her. The countess, Cookie, and Henry, Dottie’s housekeeper and handyman, were the closest thing to family she had. Losing Dottie was going to be an awful thing. Why am I thinking such morbid thoughts? This day has been bad enough. She inserted her key into the slot and entered her stateroom. Everything appeared perfect. Angel followed her, but immediately alerted. He ran around the room, pawed at the floor, and circled the room repeatedly, pawing and sniffing everywhere. He whined to get into her closet.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Mic asked as she looked into his eyes. Angel on alert was a sight to see. His ears were back and his coat was thick. He bared his teeth and barked at the closet door.
Michaela opened her closet and stared into it. Her heart beat frantically, her stomach in a knot. Her clothes were ruined. Someone had taken a knife and ripped two of her evening gowns to shreds. Her heart burned in her chest and an overwhelming sense of dread permeated every pore of her body. She couldn’t breathe. Who the hell has been in my stateroom and why have they destroyed my evening gowns?
Angel continued to circle the stateroom and sniff. Then he moved back and forth between the sliding glass door and the closet. “What is it, Angel? Did someone get in here through the patio?”
Angel barked and stood still. Michaela walked across the room and looked at the floor. She quickly spied a double-edged razor blade.
She looked down at Angel and said, “Well, I guess we found the weapon. She tested the lock on her door that led to the deck, walked across the room again, checked, and double locked her stateroom door.
Mic sat at her desk and patted Angel as she contemplated what to do. She waited for her pounding heart to settle down. As she sat there, she heard a soft tap on her door. She rose from the chair, looked out of the peek hole, and saw Sergio, her cabin steward.
She opened the door and smiled, “Sergio, how are you doing?”
Sergio, a handsome young man from Eastern Europe, smiled at her and said, “Miss Mic. I was going to ready your room for the evening, but I will come back when you go to dinner,” he said with a broad smile. “Was your day good?”
Michaela gave him a bright smile and said, “Busy, how was your day?”
“The same,” he said. “Do you need assistance with your room service order? I can take your order, and the countess’s order, down if you like.”
Mic shook her head and said, “We’ve decided to eat at Anthony’s upstairs,” she said.
Sergio’s handsome face lit up with pleasure. “Ah, Anthony’s. That’s very good,” he said. “You will enjoy.”
Mic nodded. “Sergio, have you been here all day?”
Sergio nodded. “Yes, Madame, since six this morning. I don’t get off until ten o’clock this evening. Why, is something wrong?” he asked as a scowl appeared on his friendly face.
Michaela nodded. “Someone has been in my cabin. Have you seen anyone enter my stateroom?”
“No, but I have to clean the rooms around the corner so I could have missed something.” A look of fear came on his face. “Did someone steal from you?” Sergio was visibly upset.
Mic knew that Sergio thought she’d accused him and that was far from what she was thinking. “Oh no, I haven’t been robbed. But, someone entered my room and I certainly don’t think it was you, Sergio. You can go for now. I’m going to call the ship’s security. Thank you.”
Sergio hesitated, “Is there anything else you need?”
Mic shook her head. “No, thank you but, by the way Sergio, the countess is resting, so you don’t need to go there right now.”
Sergio nodded and moved down the hall. Mic knew she’d upset the young man.
Michaela opened her closet again and looked at her dresses hanging in shreds on their hangers. Tears jumped into her eyes. Whoever had done this was angry. Parts of the dresses had almost been reduced to strings. She felt hot tears rush into her eyes, but pushed them back. She pulled out her cell phone and took pictures of her dresses. Then she walked over and took a picture of the razor blade on the floor. She wished she could fingerprint the door. She returned to her desk, picked up the room phone, and dialed the number for security.
She paced the room waiting for security to appear, but they didn’t. She decided to text pictures of her dresses and the razor blade to Slade. She knew he would probably catch the next plane and meet her in their next port of call. Michaela looked over at Angel who had curled up in his bed and was asleep. She lay across her bed. Ship security never showed up. Finally, she fell into a restless sleep.
Mic woke in a panic from a bad dream. She looked in her closet again and studied her shredded clothes. Her eyes wandered down to her shoes. Two shoes were missing. The same person who’d cut up the evening gowns had stolen two shoes. One shoe was a high heel that she used for dress, and the other was one of her favorite Nike tennis shoes. Michaela rubbed chill bumps from her arms and wished Slade were with her. Somehow, his presence always made bad things less bad and more tolerable.