Cashed In Page 8

  Ian grabbed my elbow. “That’s what I am talking about, Belinda! You are a textbook example of my theory. You intuit instead of intellectualizing.”

  Did he just call me an observant idiot?

  “So how do you go about proving your theory?” I asked, instead of forcing him to extrapolate further on my lack of mathematical ability. “Lock a bunch of poker players in a room and throw tests at them?”

  “That’s one way,” he said, staring at the nearly full moon riding on the edge of the ocean above its undulating reflection.

  I waited for him to offer another option, but he remained silent, deep in thought.

  “Why don’t you do a study? Get a federal grant. They pass those out for every ridiculous reason and your theory at least is one that would be of interest to the general public.”

  “It’s an idea.” He glanced from the moon to me, offering a brief smile which disappeared as he looked back at the moon. “But, you see, federal grants have many restrictions that would force me to compromise my standards, perhaps preventing a clear outcome . . .”

  Ian certainly was passionate about the psychology of poker. I’d always found passion in any form irresistible. I waited a moment for him to elaborate but he seemed to get more immersed in thought the longer we stood there. I watched his jaw clenching, his eyes glittering, his mind churning, no doubt calculating the different ways to conduct the proper study to prove his theory. I touched the top of his hands, which he had clasped tightly in front of him, elbows on the railing.

  “I think you’re onto something. You should pursue it.”

  “Maybe I already am.” He smiled warmly, pushing off the railing and drawing my hand into his elbow. “Now, Miss Cooley, I’m dying to take a dip in the chocolate fountain. How about you?”

  “A quick one,” I said, distracted by a shot of guilt. How could I go have fun when Rick was MIA? “And then I really should check on . . .” Oops, I had sort of promised Kinkaid I wouldn’t blab. But this was Ian, after all, if anyone understood the psychology of a mutiny on the Bounty, it would be a psychology professor. I suppose I could tell him.

  “Check on whom?” Ian asked.

  I gave him an abbreviated version of the two disappearances. He listened with his brows drawn together sharply. Finally, as I paused to take a breath, he stopped me with a shake of his head. “I think you are overreacting. Could it be that both men just took a break or are shacked up with a pretty woman they met on board and will turn up? In life things are usually less dramatic than they seem. And, much as you don’t want to, you have to consider that perhaps both men just don’t want to be found.”

  I swallowed, feeling instantly stupid. Since he didn’t give much credence to the ominous kidnapping theory, odds were he wouldn’t repeat this to anyone. Still, I felt the need to tell him about Kinkaid’s insistence that we keep the information top secret. I felt like I was in high school as I struggled for the right words to ask him not to tell the college coeds. “Ian, please—”

  A high pitched soprano behind us interrupted suddenly. “I know what happened.”

  Nine

  Amber bounced up between us in a halter dress with the shortest skirt I have ever seen.

  Ian threw me a smug look before focusing back on Amber. “You know where they are?”

  She looked over her bare shoulder, apparently on the watch out for someone. “I think I know who did it. You know Paul.”

  Ian nodded and filled me in. “Paul Pennington is the tall, shaggy-haired blond kid you saw with Amber and the others at the pool. He’s in one of my classes too.”

  Amber tiptoed to the window and peered around a column, decided the coast was clear, then tiptoed back. “Paul discovered online poker earlier this year and is a total addict. We were going out for a while and, like, he plays constantly, trying to win back what he loses, missing classes, tanking tests. Like, he’d stay up all night trying to get ahead, but as soon as he would, he’d think he could win more and keep playing. Mirror image when he’s losing. He thinks, like, if he keeps playing he will eventually win. Total addict. He told Jerry last week that he’s, like, desperate. He’s spent all his student loan money, maxed out his credit cards and his parents are going to go psycho.”

  “How did he afford coming on this cruise?” I asked.

  “It’s why we’re all on this cruise. He bought the seven of us cabins after he won some big online tournament in March. I feel bad. I promised to pay him back, but he said that little bit wouldn’t make a difference. Freckle on the ass of a 400 pound woman, was his exact quote.”

  “Nice image,” I muttered. “But what does this have to do with Rick and Rawhide?”

  She looked around again, then leaned in to whisper, “I think he robbed them and threw them overboard!”

  Ian raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. “Really?”

  I shook my head. “For one thing, I doubt that skinny rail could overpower an ex-wrestler that outweighs him by at least a hundred pounds. Besides, there’s no reason why either of them would be a target for large amounts of cash. The tournament’s not over. We just play for chips and a seat right now.”

  She blew out a breath that feathered her long bangs around her eyes. “Paul heard five guys talking right after we’d boarded the ship. They were planning on having a private ring game outside the tournament. He recognized four of them after he went to the poker stars’ reception.”

  I shrugged. “So? They could be playing for seashells for all we know.”

  She shook her head. “They said they were playing no-limit 10/20.”

  “There you go.” I threw up my hands in relief. “Nobody playing in one little 10/20 cash game carries enough to kill over.”

  “Unless the ten and twenty are in thousands of dollars.”

  A scary lump rose in my throat. Ian whistled. “Who were the poker stars involved?”

  “Rick Santobella, Rawhide Jones, Mahdu Singh and Denton Ferris.”

  “Kill them all,” Ian said quietly, eyes back on the moon floating on the horizon, “and win the ring game by default.”

  While I hated to incur the wrath of Kinkaid for being a big mouth, I knew I had to get Amber to at least talk to Hans and his security cronies. I suggested it, but Amber wasn’t budging. “No way I am going to get Paul in trouble.”

  “Why tell us then?”

  She blinked back some little girl tears. “I heard you telling Prof about the disappearances and I got totally, like, freaked. Then I got to thinking Prof is a shrink and might be able to figure out a way to talk Paul out of hurting anyone else.”

  I patted her arm. I never thought I’d make a good mother, but I guess I had some maternal instincts after all if I could feel sorry for a girl who likely considered her boob job her greatest accomplishment.

  Ian’s face had taken on a serious professorial demeanor. “I’ll do what I can, but I certainly can’t make any promises, Amber, especially if I have to pretend to be unaware of his gambling addiction. I recommend you do what Belinda suggested and go to the ship’s authorities.”

  It was a heavy decision for a kid who’d not yet escaped the peer pressure years. I leaned over and gave her shoulders a squeeze, and got a watery smile in return. Boy, was I going soft. I think my brother had made me a codependent for PWMBDs (People Who Make Bad Decisions). Dashing her tears away with the back of her hand, Amber sighed and slowly shook her head, a hank of bangs getting caught in the corner of one wet eye. I resisted a strange urge to draw it free. She sniffed as she turned away. “I just hope, like, nobody else gets hurt.“

  It seemed to me as she walked instead of bounced away that she’d grown years older in the last fifteen minutes.

  “That really dampened the mood, didn’t it?” Ian asked, startling me.

  I hadn’t realized I had been so lost in introspection. “What do you think?”

  “I’d still go ‘all in’ on both men will reappear,” he said, putting his hand at the small of my back, titillating my ner
ves again despite the “dampened mood” and trying to guide me out of the dark and into the sparkling interior of the ship.

  I wasn’t so sure, and he must have read it in my look, because he paused a step, adding more weightily, “However, I will find a careful way to talk to Paul. His financial desperation combined with the robbery opportunity certainly would be a plausible motive for murder. Of course we don’t know anyone has been killed or if Paul has the propensity to be a killer. And, besides that, the boy needs some kind of help if he is an addict.”

  I couldn’t be in less of a mood to go dancing, but Ian didn’t brook my several attempts at getting out of it as we found our way to the Rendezvous Room. “There is absolutely nothing you can do about this but worry, Belinda, and that isn’t healthy.”

  I stared with guilty fascination at the two huge chocolate fountains—one dark and one white—balanced on either side of the room. They were surrounded by people holding skewers bearing strawberries, honeydew melon chunks and bananas. I heard at least a half dozen moaning in pleasure as they chewed. I love nothing more on this planet than chocolate, but somehow tonight it seemed sacrilegious to be feasting on such gross plenty as security combed the ship, looking for my two new friends. I turned away. Ian caught me at a table stacked with dark chocolate-dipped biscotti, cherry-laced marble fudge and milk chocolate-frosted macadamia brownies. He wafted a mint chocolate candy under my nose. How did he know my ultimate weakness?

  He tickled my lips with the sliver of chocolate. I opened my mouth and he slid it in. Yum.

  “Did you know that chocolate is the ultimate brain food?” he said as I purred, rolling the minty smoothness around on my tongue. Ian explained: “Psychology Today did an article recently that cocoa has the most antioxidants of any food. Antioxidants protect the brain more than any other part of the body—therefore eat chocolate, the darker the better, be smarter and more emotionally balanced.”

  I smiled. “I think I need a couple of pounds tonight.”

  He grabbed my hand, leading me to the dark chocolate fountain. We dipped fruit until I reached a first: I actually got tired of eating chocolate.

  I licked my fingertips. “Do you always have an answer for everything?”

  Ian shook his head. “But you’ll know when I don’t, because then I ask a question, like all good psychologists do.”

  “Is it: How do you feel about that?”

  “I see you’ve been through therapy?”

  “No, but considering what my friends and family regularly put me through, I probably need it.”

  “Hey, I take offense at that,” Ben said as he goosed me. I jumped and so did Ian. Just as I was about to worry about Ben’s recent proclivities (wouldn’t put anything weirdly sexual past my twin), Ian pulled a vibrating Blackberry out of his pocket, his lips tightening to a thin line.

  He looked at the two of us, shaking Ben’s hand as I made a hasty introduction. “I apologize, Belinda, I have to check an e-mail,” Ian said. I felt a jolt of relief. We had amazing chemistry but I really wasn’t sure where this was going or even if I wanted to go wherever that might be.

  “I didn’t realize we could get messages out here on the water.” Ben put in, raising his eyebrows at Ian.

  I ignored him, touching Ian’s sleeve. “Is something wrong?”

  “A minor issue with work,” he said, trying to act relaxed but remaining tight-lipped.

  “But you’re on vacation, dude!” Ben said, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

  “For some, work is life,” Ian said as he brought my fingers to his lips for a kiss. “I promise to make it up to you.”

  As he hurried off, Ben leaned in, mockingly repeating in a deep baritone. “ ‘For some work is life.’ ” Where did you find that asshole, Bee Bee?”

  “This is just like you were with Toby, Ben. You always hate the guys I hang out with if they are hotter than you are.”

  “I just hate the guys you latch onto if they are bigger assholes than I am, Bee Bee.” Ben winked. “And I was right about Toby, wasn’t I?”

  I’d talked myself into this corner so couldn’t do much but huff off. Ben followed as I stopped at a table full of chocolate-covered everything, including, I noticed, grasshoppers. Ook. Ben snatched one up and popped it in his mouth, no doubt just to gross me out. I struggled not to show him it worked, reaching down and grabbing a candy from the next silver tray, long and shaped like a half moon, a brazil nut. I noticed Ben grinning as I bit down. The nut tasted oddly squishy and segmented.

  “Brave of you, my girl. I’ve never tried a chocolate-covered mealworm, but I understand they are a delicacy in Malaysia,” an elderly man standing next to us offered.

  Gag. Scrambling for a napkin, I couldn’t bring it to my mouth soon enough. Ben held the side of the table to steady himself he was laughing so hard. Half a dozen people left the fountains to wander over to see what the excitement was all about.

  “Not good?” The senior citizen squinted at me.

  “I don’t recommend it,” I choked out, wadding the napkin with the offending insect into a ball and looking frantically for a place to dump it.

  “Ah, perhaps it would be more palatable with white chocolate.” He nodded thoughtfully and wandered off. A couple of preteens covered their mouths with giggles as they looked from the rest of the mealworms to me and back.

  “So, I’d guess you are still in the tournament,” Richard said, sidling up with a wink. Ben looked curiously from me to my square-headed acquaintance and back, not sure of what to make of this relationship. I was tempted to kiss the top of Richard’s head just to freak my brother out.

  “I am; the mealworm tip you off?” I asked, winking back.

  Ben, now thoroughly confused, opened his mouth and closed it. I had so rarely in our forty years together seen my twin speechless that I blurted out a brief explanation of Richard’s theory on life, love and luck. Ben cocked a disbelieving eyebrow as he listened. As I wound down, he shook his head, causing his hair to flop down over one eye and a gorgeously elegant woman walking by to gasp. Ben threw her a grin before telling Richard, “No way is that theory working for me. Since I’ve never been in love, by now I should’ve won millions at Hold ’Em, or at least on lottery tickets.”

  “How do you know you’ve never been in love?” Richard asked.

  Ben opened and closed his mouth. The brunette who reminded me of a young Jacqueline Kennedy paused. Ben cleared his throat. Speechless twice in five minutes? It was a new personal record. I grinned.

  “I think I would know when I was in love,” Ben finally argued.

  Richard shook his head. “Guy like you, avoiding commitments as strongly as you need to breathe, wouldn’t recognize love if it bit you in the gluteus maximus.”

  The Jackie-O looked tempted to try that method until a tall blond man claimed her by the elbow, drawing her away and glaring at Ben, who was oblivious.

  “So you’re saying that every time I’ve lost gambling, I’ve won a heart?”

  “Or lost yours to another,” Richard put in slyly.

  Ben fidgeted. This was way too deep for the love ’em and leave ’em man. “Guess I have to swear off women any time I put up a blind, huh?”

  “That’s a little too simplistic,” Richard said. “It could be you already are in love with someone in the background of your life and she loves you, just one or both of you don’t know it yet. Then, your tactic wouldn’t work.”

  Ben shot me a frustrated caged animal look. “Who is this dude, some kind of shrink?”

  “No, that was the other guy,” I shot back. “This one is a mathematician.”

  Snorting, Ben waved him off. “What do you know about emotions, dude?”

  “More than you do, at least I can recognize them well enough to measure them.”

  I laughed out loud at his comeback.

  Ben backed away from the table. “Where do you find these freaks, Bee Bee?”

  I shrugged, perversely enjoying Ben’s intense discomfor
t. “They find me.”

  “Figures. You’re bound to win the whole tournament then, sis.”

  “How’d you do?” I called as he paused in the doorway.

  “I was smokin’! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to rake it in on some cash games.”

  “Hope he doesn’t sink too much into those.” Richard winked at me. “He’s in love. He just doesn’t know it.”

  While I wanted to believe Richard’s theory, I just couldn’t think of anyone I knew that Ben might have fallen for other than the human s’more. While Richard devoured a couple of pounds of chocolate-covered cranberries, I wracked my brain for other possibilities. Maybe Jill, the cute teller with dimples at his bank who repeatedly refused his offers of dates. Maybe Teresa Guilbeau from fourth grade. I think he still talked about her.

  “There you are!” I turned as a hand clamped onto my ponytail.

  “Mom?” I asked, my voice disappearing into a croak of surprise.

  Elva stood there in a robe, smelling and looking like she’d been bathing in olive oil. Dad stood behind her wearing a grin, his belt missing three loops on his khakis and his shirt buttoned one hole off center. I’m sure I didn’t want to know.

  “We had hired a masseuse to come in to give us private lessons, you know. We’re old, we need all the help we can get for our aching joints,” she began in full lecture mode. “And leave it to you to ruin it just as things were getting interesting.”

  Uh-oh. TMI. “Mom? I was just standing here, talking with Richard, minding my own business—”

  “And that, my dear, is the problem. Someone is looking for you and you’re off being irresponsible, incommunicado on this huge hulk of a ship and I have to get decent and go hunting for you . . .”

  I reviewed her getup. This was decent? “Mom, you could’ve just left a message at—”

  “He insisted it was important!” she interrupted.

  My heart skipped a beat. “Is it Frank?”

  She shook her head impatiently, waving one hand in the air to silence me. “You wouldn’t be so lucky. This is some gentleman named Rick. I suppose one of your new conquests. He had an Italian last name I couldn’t make out before he hung up the phone, although it sounded familiar. He was rather rude if you ask me but of course you won’t, because what do I know. I’m just your mother.”