Cooks Overboard by Joanne Pence Read Free Book Online

causes.”
    “Pardon me. I couldn’t help overhearing. Someone is dead?” The question, asked in an upper-crust British accent, cut into their conversation.
    Angie gazed up and up at a mountain of a man. The most striking thing about him was his huge head, its bald crown shining and bulbous, circled by a fringe of thinning gray hair. His lower face bulged out into flabby, red-veined cheeks, followed by jowls extending almost to his chest and rendering his neck a long-ago memory.
    His chest rolled onto a massive stomach, over which he wore a vest with a pocket watch. Hiswhite suit jacket was open, hanging loosely on either side of his paunch, its buttons and buttonholes strangers. In his hand was a white Panama hat.
    “We were talking about a newspaper article,” Angie said, curious about the newcomer. “My name is Angelina Amalfi, and this is Paavo Smith.”
    “Charmed, madam. And Mr. Smith. Ah, such a relief that it was just a story,” the Englishman said. “I’ve been informed that a steward was taken ill on board. It wasn’t the food, was it?”
    “No one else is sick, so I wouldn’t worry about the food,” Angie said. “And you are…?”
    “Oh, my!” the Englishman cried. “Pardon my bad manners! I just joined you last night. My name is Dudley Livingstone. I’m a collector. South American artifacts, to be precise.”
    They shook hands.
    “Did you board in Long Beach?” Angie said. “I didn’t realize we were taking on more passengers.”
    “I was quite fortunate.” Livingstone eased his great bulk into a metal deck chair beside them. Angie watched the chair legs bow slightly. “The ship I was supposed to have been on left three days early, and I missed it. I’d been spending the past twenty-four hours berating the Los Angeles port authority when they got word about the emergency on this ship. Since the Valhalla is going to Chile, which is where I’m headed, the harbormaster arranged for me to get on.”
    “You were lucky,” Angie said. “We weren’t supposed to stop there.”
    “So I understand.” Livingstone folded his hands over his round belly. “So, do tell me, are you going far? All the way to South America, or will this be a short jaunt?”
    “We’ll be leaving the ship in Acapulco,” Angie answered.
    “A beautiful city. One of my favorites,” Livingstone said. “What about the others? Do you know?”
    “One couple disembarks at Cabo San Lucas, I believe. I’m not sure about the other. How long will it take you to get to Chile?”
    “Nearly two weeks, I expect, with all the stopovers along the way—which is, of course, the joy of freighter travel,” he said. “I do hope I’ll have some companions beside the crew. But anyway, back to the newspaper article. It sounded rather interesting. Who did you say was dead?”
    “Some professor from the Lawrence Lab,” Paavo answered. “Conrad Von Mueller.”
    Livingstone’s gaze darted from one to the other “Von Mueller! He’s very famous. I can’t believe it. Surely you are both aware of his work?”
    “No.” Paavo glanced at Angie. She shook her head. “What was his work?”
    Livingstone eyed them both carefully. “Oh, a little of this and a tad of that. Chemistry, you know. Since you were talking about him, I hadnaturally assumed…” He let his voice trail off.
    “You can tell us about him,” Angie said.
    “Why bore young people with talk of old scientists?” Livingstone stood. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Amalfi.” He placed his hat on his head. “And you, Mr. Smith. I look forward to conversing with you much more in the future.”
    As soon as Livingstone left, she turned to Paavo.
    “So tell me,” she said, leaning forward, “what did you think of him?”
    Paavo was already scanning the newspaper again, looking for an article to catch his attention. “What do you mean?” he asked.
    She gazed at the paper, then at him. The urge to jump up and shake him was overwhelming. What was wrong with