Set Sail for Murder by R. T. Jordan Read Free Book Online Page B

scream.”
    Polly sat up and set her feet on the floor. She immodestly dropped the sheet as she reached for her clothes and began to dress.
    Rosemary reiterated, “I swear, I had nothing to do with Miss Crawford’s murder. Maybe the killer surprised his victim and she didn’t have time to make a sound.”
    Polly finished dressing and remembered to take her rings from the seashell. “Dear, I’m not insinuating anything about you and Laura Crawford. I just want to get my facts straight. A friend is dead and getting freezer burn down in the meat locker, and I want to know why she died and who committed the evil deed. If you say you had nothing to do with it, I totally believe you. I’ll even give you an extralarge tip.”
    Polly handed Rosemary her key card and said, “Charge it. And add enough to buy the new boxed set of
The Polly Pepper Playhouse.
You’ll make Nana’s and Grandpy’s Christmas.”

C HAPTER 5
    A successful massage should have the effect of making one relaxed and lethargic. Polly, however, was ramped up as if she’d guzzled a four-pack of Red Bull with a double espresso chaser. As she strutted her way back toward her cabin, her attention was divided between recalling Talia’s testimony of witnessing Rosemary running from the scene of the crime, and wondering what miracles cream of snail pulp would perform on the wrinkles under her eyes.
    Could Talia be a killer?
Polly wondered as she moved along the corridor. She was certainly a pushy person, popping into the massage room during a private treatment. “Utterly unprofessional and probably unethical as well,” Polly muttered. “She never apologized for the interruption.” Was Talia pointing a gossipy finger at Rosemary? Could the disruption have been her way of planting the seed for a theory that Rosemary was involved in the death of Laura Crawford? Perhaps she needed to deflect any thoughts of her own involvement.
    Or, maybe the paramour Talia was reported to have been entertaining sliced the life out of Laura. Was this supposed rich passenger also famous? God knows the ship was crawling with more bottom-of-the-barrel celebritiesthan the contestants on
Dancing with the Nobodies.
Suppose that Laura had recognized Mr. Moneybags when she tried to get him booted out of the salon; he may have gotten scared, especially if Mr. Seven Digits knew of Laura’s penchant for making extra bucks as a spy for the
National Peeper.
    As she envisioned Laura’s last moments, Polly imagined her former costar settling down on the massage table waiting for Rosemary to return, calm and collected, to finish her assignment. Perhaps the door to the massage room opened and Laura, with her face down in the headrest, mumbled an apology for her venomous sputum. But suppose, instead of the healing touch of an understanding masseuse, the killer yanked Laura’s head up by a fistful of L’Oreal “I’m worth it” tresses, and then quickly and deftly drew the sharpened DVD deep into the soft flesh on Laura’s neck. Although Polly hoped for a mercifully rapid demise for Laura, the images in her head triggered horror stories of eighteenth-century guillotined French nobility still blinking their eyes in shock and confusion, and babbling
“Mon dieu! Que la baise?!”
as their disembodied heads rolled into woven baskets to the cheers of the bloodthirsty, cake-deprived citizens. Polly shuddered at the horror and closed her eyes in deep revulsion.
    In that instant, she suddenly collided with another passenger who was exiting a stateroom. Polly wailed, “Sorry! My fault … Do forgive … I’m a clumsy …”
    “Mother!”
    Polly looked at Tim, then at the cabin number, and smiled evilly. “Cozier accommodations on this deck, Sweetums? Or perhaps you’re taking in the sights. God knows both our heads have been turned by more than a few points of interest on this ship,” Polly said as she continued walking toward the elevator.
    Tim fell into lockstep beside his mother. “It’s