Cashed In Part 15

"The surface of the water can be as hard as concrete unless you hit it just right. I wouldn't hold out much hope for the guy, Bee Bee."

"But why? Why would someone want to kill him?"

"I guess he asked the wrong question," Ben said as he walked away.

By the time I got to my appointed place to teach my workshop it was already scheduled to be over. A couple of holdouts who'd been oblivious to the man-overboard incident were still waiting. I promised them a wrap-up of the Softer Secrets on the website. That thing was really taking on a life of its own.

I traipsed to the top deck where Ingrid waited outside the bar. I could see Ian sitting at a table by the window, looking out at the sea. I found it interesting that a psychologist would study the water instead of the people, but maybe he was just tired of working. That instant, Jack, looking quite handsome in a charcoal suit, purple b.u.t.ton-down and yellow and gray tie, entered the bar through the other doorway, so I tiptoed over and put my hand on his shoulder. That's when I noticed the b.u.t.ton-down was streaked with sweat. This was a huge effort for him and I appreciated it. "Hi, Jack. How nice to see you. Won't you join me and my friends?"

Jack shot me a fleeting glance before going along with my formality. He cleared his throat. "What an honor, B-Belinda."

I led him to the table where Ian sat, supremely handsome in a sunflower open-necked b.u.t.ton-down and indigo linen blazer. I introduced everyone around as Ian hid his vexation. He was definitely a man who didn't like not being in control.

The first ten minutes were monopolized, of course, by the man overboard until I could guide Ingrid into a conversation with Ian about psychology. Jack stayed quiet for the most part, nodding at appropriate times. Ingrid caught my hint and captured Ian's attention with a lively story about her college professor. I leaned in to Jack. "How's it going? Any news?"

His eyes twinkled with excitement. "This and that."

Ian watched us carefully out of the corner of his eye. I smiled, leaning back in my chair as I laughed at Jack. "You'd better give, or I'm not telling you what happened with my day."

"Don't t-tell me, you were k-kidnapped," he joked in a quiet voice.

"d.a.m.n near," I answered just as quietly, smiling at Ian, who was listening to Ingrid.

Jack's eyes bugged out. "You have to t-tell me what happened. Who did it?"

"You're the investigative journalist. That's what you are supposed to find out for me."

Nearly bouncing up and down in the chair in excitement, Jack whispered: "I need all the details."

"After you tell me about Sam the Man Hyun."

Jack frowned, "What about him?"

"Whatever you know. All I know is he is an old Texas Hold 'Em legend and has a bad temper."

Shrugging, Jack threw out, "That could d-describe half the guys who s-started the game before it got to be a household word-including The Mouth and Poker Brat."

"Tell me more," I urged, watching as Ingrid began flirting with Ian. I could see the attention was fake, but Ian couldn't. His male ego, properly stroked, was responding appropriately. I'd have to owe Ingrid more than 10 percent if she was this good at her distraction techniques.

Jack had noticed the pair flirting too. He kept a close watch on Ingrid, and I had to touch his arm to bring his attention back to me. He cleared his throat, one eye still drifting to Ingrid every now and then. "Sam grew up in Salem, Oregon, and got caught at the age of fourteen running a Hold 'Em game in the toolshed behind his house. It made national news because it was a no-limit cash game with forty-five thousand dollars on the felt and the mayor, state representative and U.S. senator sitting at the table."

"Enterprising lad," I observed, noticing Jack hadn't stuttered once in his report.

"He grew up to be an enterprising adult too, winning G.o.d only knows how many millions in ring games all over the world. He is one of the smartest players I've ever seen, to tell you the truth-can calculate the outs before the card even hits the felt. But his two downfalls were the advent of the Internet and Hyun's own preference to fly below the radar. He refused to capitalize on his legend like Doyle Brunson did. Once TV became part of the game, he went the other way, playing in private ring games instead of the big tournaments. He tried to, in effect, kill his own legend."

And now maybe he was killing others as well? "So why is he on board the Sea Gambler?"

"He is?" Jack asked, open mouthed. After a thoughtful moment, he continued, "M-maybe he's made his peace with the part media plays in the game today and is trying to make a c-comeback. This wouldn't be a bad place to s-start. This s.h.i.+p's inaugural voyage is getting a lot of p-press. He doesn't have to do the poker star business but might win and still get the media attention from that after the fact. It certainly would be c-consistent with his personality."

"You don't think he might have a serious enough grudge against any of these players that he might want to hurt them, do you? When I talked to him today he seemed rather . . . resentful."

Jack sat up so high in his chair I wondered if he wasn't standing on it. Ian and Ingrid looked over, startled. Jack eased back down and smiled until they resumed their conversation. Then he leaned in to me. "You t-talked to him?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you are the k-kind of player he would most resent. First of all, he is a huge male chauvinist. Second, he despises the part luck plays in the game today and the fact that n.o.bodies beat skilled players on a regular basis. Now, the same n.o.bodies don't beat the skilled players over and over, but the same skilled player will get beat by different n.o.bodies, most of whom learned to play on the Internet and think they know what they are doing, catch enough good cards and win every now and then.

"So a woman who didn't know how to play the game four days before a major tournament and wins would not be on Sam Hyun's. .h.i.t parade."

"You've seen the website?" I blurted out.

"It's awesome, g-girl!" Jack gushed.

"What website?" Ian asked as their conversation waned.

"Ingrid surprised me by building it," I answered.

Jack looked at Ingrid and I saw the electricity zap between them. Feeling it must have been wild. What an odd couple; I smiled at the possibility.

"You are very talented," Jack purred, turning into male mush. "And b-beautiful."

"Not really," Ingrid murmured, uncharacteristically humble. "But thank you."

Ian looked at my outfit. "I see you found some clothes that fit. Fit in just the right places, by the way," he added, his voice turning to warm syrup.

I wasn't in the mood for pancakes so it didn't have much of an effect. I looked at his Timex. "It's nearly time for dinner."

"I need to see this website of yours," Ian said, getting up from the table and pulling out my chair. Jack had jumped up to pull out Ingrid's chair. She blushed.

"So do I," I admitted, rising.

"You haven't seen it? You don't know what's on your own website?"

I shook my head. "No."

"You are an incredibly trusting soul, Belinda," Ian observed in a way that sounded like he was pleased and, at the same time, disapproved. Huh.

"In this case, I didn't have much choice, because I didn't know about it beforehand."

"Then maybe it is more accurate to say you are an accepting soul." Ian clarified in a tone that made me think he was much more comfortable with me being accepting than trusting.

"With a twin like Ben, I had to learn quick to be accepting or choke myself to death with my pacifier."

Ian raised his eyebrows in a way that suggested I was a serious candidate for therapy. "Do you still resent your brother, Belinda?"

"Every day."

"It sounds like a sadom.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic relations.h.i.+p," Ian observed seriously as we paused outside the glittering dining room. Ingrid and Jack were deep in conversation behind us. I could barely concentrate on Ian for watching them. I heard Jack apologize for hyperventilating. Ingrid patted Jack on the arm and told him he was cute. Go figure Cupid, but I had to like his master plan.

"Aren't all family relations.h.i.+ps quirky and somewhat painful?" I finally responded to Ian's intense stare.

"Maybe we should talk."

"About what? Your family? Great idea. Where did you grow up?"

Ian blinked and I thought instantly he ought to rethink his affinity for older women. Perhaps he was better off sticking to coeds for company. We more mature females were a bit more headstrong, hard to control and tended to say what we think.

"I grew up in a normal household . . ."

As opposed to mine, I supposed, where infants contemplated suicide and fratricide.

". . . one of three children in Roswell."

Score one for Mom.

Before we could delve deeper into his normal childhood, a young woman came rus.h.i.+ng out of the doors. She paused, fl.u.s.tered and wild-eyed, looking from side to side like she couldn't decide which way to go.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Can I help you?"

"It's Mahdu. Something bad has happened."

Eighteen.

Eria was Mahdu's girlfriend. I could discern that much before she started babbling so fast I couldn't follow her.

Ian excused himself to go find security. Ingrid and Jack gathered around her. People filtering into dinner stared.

"Eria," I said calmly, even though my heart was racing too. "Start from the beginning. How do you know something is wrong with Mahdu? Where is he?"

She sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. Good for her. Then she took another breath and blew it out. Then she took another breath. Okay, so much for deep breathing. I was ready to kick-start her by the time she finally spoke again. "We have walkie-talkies to keep track of each other on the s.h.i.+p, just like we did at Disney World. He was playing Hold 'Em in the poker room all afternoon and got back to the room after I'd already left for dinner. He radioed he was going to change clothes fast and meet me at the table. I'd just sat down and the radio beeped. As I got it out of my purse I heard him say, 'No, Ferris!' really loud and scared and then nothing. I can't get him to answer back."

Phil and another security man appeared at my elbow with Ian in their wake. "I'm with s.h.i.+p security, miss," the other man said, putting his arm on her shoulders, directing her away from the crowded dining room and toward the elevators. "Let's see if we can help you."

"Where's Hans?" I asked Phil. He just glared at me. I pressed, "Where are you taking her?"

"This is none of your concern, ma'am," the other security creep informed me. "Go enjoy your dinner."

"This might indeed be my concern if whoever is giving Mahdu trouble are the same guys who attacked me in the spa today. Certainly you've seen the report."

"There is no such report, ma'am," the security cretin threw over his shoulder as he ushered a frightened Eria into the elevator. "But I will certainly check into it for you."

Sure he would. The elevator doors shut on them. What was going on? Had Hans not filed a report? Seemed like there would be an APB out for my attackers.

"Why do I feel like I am in C-cold War Russia?" Jack asked in the stunned silence.

"Because I think that is where they learned to run this s.h.i.+p's security."

"You were attacked? Why didn't you tell me?" Ian asked, concern wrinkling his forehead. "What happened?"

I was more worried for Mahdu than for me at the moment, so I just waved my hand. "Someone tried to throw me out the spa window."

"What!" Ian shouted, shocked. "Why?"

"I don't know. I don't think it was Plan A but they went with it when I was too slippery to get a grip on."

"What was Plan A?" Ian asked quietly, suddenly so intense he was barely breathing.

"They didn't share that with me at the time," I answered before turning toward the elevators. I realized Ingrid had disappeared.

"Where's Ingrid?" I asked Ian.

"I looked around while that poor girl was talking and she was gone. Maybe she went to update your website?"

"I'll go look for her," Ian randomly offered.

Jack looked dismayed and started after him, but I held him back. "Ingrid can take care of herself. I need your help."

Jack didn't look convinced as he watched Ian head up the stairs. If the security department was going to try to cover this up, like they apparently were trying to do with Rawhide's, Rick's and my incidents, then someone else was going to have to take over. I looked at Jack, feeling the fury of injustice flowing through my veins. "Sure you still want to be an investigative journalist?"

He looked at me, nodding firmly and wiping a trail of sweat from his cheek.

"Okay, we need to do a survey of the dining room and find out where Ferris is. You take left of the chandelier and I'll go right. We'll meet up later."

Jack nodded and started off. I forced my stride to be relaxed, my gaze to search curiously instead of intensely. I saw Delia, her back to me in the corner. I spotted four other poker stars by the time I got to the far wall. I'd sent Jack in the direction of my table so I could avoid my parents but then I remembered he didn't know to look for Paul Pennington. As I made it halfway through the other side, I tried to put three tables between me and my parents but Elva's radar was apparently on high. She spun around in her chair, spotted me and stood up, waving, nearly knocking our waiter into the next table. "We're over here, Belinda!"

Smiling apologetically at all the people now staring at me, I wove my way to my seat. Across about fifteen tables I could see Jack looking at me questioningly. Extracting myself gracefully from Elva was going to take time. I nodded at him to grab a seat. He responded with a look of sheer panic.

"Where have you been?" she demanded.

Dad stood, kissed my cheek and shot a look at Ben, who was forced to remove his hand from Stella's lap to stand. Ben, being Ben, flourished a bow too. Stella giggled. Ingrid's chair was empty. Callie's torso was listing side to side.

"I've been talking to friends," I answered, smoothing my napkin in my lap and trying to figure a way out of eating, which would show how worried I was-I never missed a meal, especially not one this delicious.

"Friends? What friends?" Mom demanded, not waiting for the answer before she soldiered on. "Other than the delay when that poor man went for a swim off the side of the boat, Howard and I have been having the most fab time. I learned that word today, fab, you like it?"

"You're cool, Ma," Ben put in.

"Anyway, I swore I would never play shuffleboard because that was for old fogies, but some cute young kids were playing so we decided to give it a whirl and I won the tournament, can you believe it? Shuffleboard Queen of the Sea Gambler, free pizza the whole voyage."

"Ma, the pizza is free anyway." Ben clarified, looking down at our appetizer for the evening, cold pumpkin soup.

"Oh? Guess that was a joke. Ha ha, I fell for it. After we celebrated my big win, we went and played strip twister."