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  DEADLY ENGAGEMENT

  A Mapleton Mystery Novella

  Terry Odell

  Copyright © 2018 by Terry Odell

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  DEADLY ENGAGEMENT

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  A Note From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Sign up for Terry Odell's Mailing List

  Further Reading: Seeing Red

  Also By Terry Odell

  DEADLY ENGAGEMENT

  Chapter 1

  “GORDON HEPLER, WOULD you please put your phone away?” Angie Mead resisted the urge to yank it out of his hand. “We are on vacation.”

  With a sigh, he put the phone in the pocket of his cargo shorts as they strolled to the cruise line dock and found the right entrance.

  Angie dovetailed her fingers with his. “That’s better. You knew Ed Solomon could cover the department when you appointed him acting Chief of Police. Trust him to do the job. No cop stuff. We agreed to be unplugged. You promised.”

  Angie stopped short when she stepped into the cavernous room. Room? You could fit downtown Mapleton in here. Gordon’s gentle nudge had her shuffling forward along with the throng of people snaking their way through the stanchions set up to funnel the crowd to the security screening post that seemed half a mile away.

  The rumble of hundreds of people in conversation interspersed with the occasional crying babies made it hard to think. Smells of perfume, fast food, people sweating in the Florida humidity—even in October—and stale, heavy air. Nothing like the fresh, dry Colorado climate she was used to.

  “Feel like a cow?” a rotund man wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and a Panama hat said. “At least they’re not using cattle prods.” He guffawed at his lame joke.

  Angie had a feeling if Gordon had a cattle prod, he’d have used it on the man. Gordon’s mood had worsened, starting with traffic to the airport, and had grown worse with every delay along the way. But they were here.

  She forced a cheery smile for the stranger behind them. “It seems to be moving well enough without help.”

  The furrows in Gordon’s brow worried her. Had she made a mistake insisting they take advantage of a great deal on a Caribbean cruise? Had it been worth all the schedule-juggling she’d had to do to justify the time off?

  Gordon adjusted his backpack as they moved forward another foot. Angie noticed his eyes darting across the room, never stopping, taking in everything. Once a cop, always a cop, even when suspended from active duty. Angie was determined to make Gordon forget that the mayor of Mapleton had put him on a sixty-day suspension.

  The first month had been rocky. Gordon had kept to himself, claiming he finally had time for all the house repairs he’d been putting off. Angie had been swamped with working at her café, Daily Bread, along with her partnership in Megan Wyatt’s new catering business, and hadn’t minded that his visits had become less frequent.

  Although she’d never confronted him, she was ninety percent positive he’d visited the station several times, and she was equally positive he’d been in touch with his contacts in the department. She sighed and tugged her carryon behind her as she moved with the queue.

  “Your first cruise?” Their new companion took off his hat and fanned his face. He wiped his brow with a hairy forearm, then replaced the hat and held out a hand. “I’m Eugene Perry. This is my sixth, so if there’s anything you want to know, just ask.”

  “Gordon and Angie,” Gordon said. “We’re okay, but thanks for the offer.” He turned away from Eugene, drawing Angie alongside him.

  She felt Gordon tense, and although Angie grasped that Gordon didn’t want to deal with the man, she was uncomfortable being rude. She reluctantly turned and shook the man’s sweaty hand. “Is this typical for boarding?” she asked.

  “About average,” Eugene said.

  When he rambled on about his worst embarkation experience, Angie gave up trying to be polite and tuned him out. Eugene didn’t seem to care. He merely turned to the young couple behind him and repeated his cattle prod line. Like Eugene, the man wore a bright, floral print shirt. Although they were indoors, the woman wore a floppy-brimmed straw hat and dark sunglasses that obscured her eyes. An oversized straw bag hung over her shoulder. Apparently, the two of them were on their first cruise, too, and were delighted to take Eugene’s advice. Good. He had an audience, and she no longer felt guilty about ignoring him. She returned her attention to Gordon.

  Angie raised herself on tiptoe to whisper in Gordon’s ear. “I can’t wait until we set sail. I have plans.”

  She was determined to make Gordon forget his suspension. True, the mayor had apologized and tried to make up for it with the offer of a new contract. Gordon had shoved the envelope into a desk drawer without bothering to open it. “I’ll look at it when my suspension is over,” Gordon had said.

  Never mind. She’d packed new lingerie, nightgowns, and bikinis, and was looking forward to a new, relaxed Gordon.

  Eventually, they reached the front of the line, and after clearing security, they followed the herd up a ramp, into another room where they waited in yet another line to get their sea passes.

  “Welcome aboard, Mr. Hepler,” the smiling woman behind the counter said. “And Miss Mead.”

  After they filled out forms and had their pictures taken, she handed each of them a blue plastic card. “Don’t lose these sea passes. They’re your room keys, your on-board credit cards, and you must have them—along with a photo ID—to get on and off the ship. You’ll note your dinner seating time and table, as well as your muster station for the lifeboat drill. Enjoy your cruise.”

  Angie slipped her card into the outside compartment of her purse. One more ramp, down a corridor, and they were on board, greeted by a welcome blast of air-conditioning and smiling crew members. Loud music blasted from speakers. Angie tried not to gawk at the bright lights, the streams of people who seemed to know exactly where they were going. Sensory overload didn’t begin to describe it.

  “Let’s get to our cabin.” Gordon seemed as overwhelmed as she was.

  “They don’t open the staterooms until one,” she said, resolving to stay positive. “We have over an hour. Shall we find a place to eat? Or wander around? Get the lay of the ship, so to speak.”

  “Whatever you want is fine,” Gordon said.

  She opted for wandering, quickly discovering the shops weren’t open yet, and even if they had been, shopping was obviously not fine with Gordon. Angie made a mental note to come back another time.

  They worked their way up several flights of stairs to a huge cafeteria area filled with multitudes of buffet stations, featuring foods from around the world. The aromas had Angie’s mouth watering and stomach growling. She couldn’t imagine what must go on behind the scenes to get everything prepared. The watermelon carvings alone must have taken hours, and those were decorations.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  Gordon shrugged. “Guess I could eat.”

  She swallowed a retort.

  Give him time to adjust.

  Angie opted for the Indian buffet and ignored the tightness in her stomach when Gordon chose a burger and fries. Where was his sense of adventure?

  Seating was limited, but they found an open table under a stylized sculpture of a pirate. “I saw a drink station,” Angie said. “You stay here, and I’ll get you something. Any preferences?”

  Gordon dunked a fry in a puddle of ketchup. “Water is fine.”

  Angie pivoted and wove her way through the other food-bearing passengers to the counter where icy glasses of assorted drinks were set out. With a lemonade for herself and water for Gordon, she turned to go to their table and jostled the person behind her. “I’m sorry,” Angie said. “Should have been paying more attention. I didn’t spill on you, did I?”

  “No, I’m fine. It’s Angie, right?”

  The voice registered. Great. Eugene.

  “See you found the food,” he said. “Don’t worry. Once we’re underway, there will be lots more eating choices, and people are all on different schedules, so it
won’t be this crowded.”

  She hoped not. Given enough passengers and crew to make the ship a small city, Angie hoped the odds of bumping into Eugene again were slim.

  Not wanting to get caught up in conversation, she gave a quick thanks and carried her drinks away.

  Using the pirate sculpture to navigate the crowded room, she found Gordon, his burger already half-finished. And checking his cell phone. With a guilty duck of his head, Gordon put his phone face down on the table.

  Patience. Once they were at sea, it wouldn’t matter. No cell service in the middle of the ocean, and she didn’t think Gordon had an international calling plan for when they were in port.

  “Excuse me? Are these seats taken?”

  Angie gazed up at the big-hatted, sunglasses-wearing woman from the line, along with the man she was with. While Angie was devising a polite yet plausible way to refuse them the two empty seats at the table, Gordon said, “No. Please join us.”

  Angie refrained from kicking him under the table.

  The couple—Bonnie and Noah Finley, brother and sister, not husband and wife—were on a getaway trip after the death of their mother.

  “Mom always said, ‘Have a good time with the insurance money,’ so here we are,” Bonnie said. “There wasn’t a lot of it, but it covered this cruise. Then I got into an accident. Nothing serious, but I had a concussion. I’m hypersensitive to light, and we couldn’t get a refund for the trip, so we decided to come anyway.” She pointed to her face. “Hence the sunglasses.”

  “I can sympathize,” Gordon said. “I had eye issues myself a while ago, but everything’s fine now.” He frowned. “Except I’m restricted to one cup of real coffee a day. Blood pressure issues.”

  Bonnie nodded in sympathy. “I’m not sure I could do that. Meanwhile, I’m here, and I’m going to make the most of it.”

  Noah squeezed Bonnie’s hand. “Mom would be glad.”

  Angie ate in silence as Gordon and Bonnie compared eye issues and concussions. Bonnie flagged a server carrying a coffee pot and waved him over.

  Angie and Gordon had both finished. The crowds hadn’t lessened. “We should let others have our seats,” Angie said. Another smiling server appeared and whisked away their dirty dishes.

  “Don’t let us keep you,” Noah said. “We tend to linger over coffee.”

  After saying their good-byes, Angie and Gordon wound their way out of the cafeteria. Gordon paused and checked his phone. “Airplane mode, as promised. Checking the time,” he said, raising a palm. “Once we make our way to our stateroom, they should be letting people in.”

  “Maybe we should stop and buy watches. I saw them in one of the shops. That way, we won’t need our phones at all.”

  “Camera function?” Gordon said, taking her hand.

  The warmth of his hand, the way he rubbed her palm with his thumb, gave Angie hope his mood was shifting. “You’re right,” she said. “Airplane mode it is.”

  After exiting the cafeteria, Angie spied signs for restrooms. “In case our room isn’t ready, I’m going to stop here.”

  “Sounds smart.” Gordon veered across the corridor to the men’s room and Angie, dragging her carryon, went into the ladies’.

  Three stalls, five people waiting, which wasn’t bad for a ladies’ room in a crowded venue. One mom with a couple of fidgety preschoolers, a bored-looking teen, and an elderly woman. Angie took her place at the end of the line. After a minute or two, one door opened and the mom herded her kids into the stall with her.

  “We meet again.”

  Angie turned to find Bonnie joining the line behind her. “Too much coffee,” Bonnie said.

  Angie gave a noncommittal smile and listened to Bonnie talk about her life in Phoenix. At last, it was Angie’s turn, and she wrestled her carryon into the narrow stall.

  When Angie finished, Bonnie had disappeared, and Angie chided herself for not being friendlier. Everyone was here on vacation, out for a good time.

  She stepped into the corridor, searching for Gordon’s bright blue t-shirt and his gray-and-orange pack. When she couldn’t spot him, she walked up and down for a minute or two. Surely, he’d finished first. Lines in men’s rooms always moved quickly, and there was no overflow outside to indicate this time was different.

  Had he thought he’d missed her? Got tired of waiting? He complained about how long women took in the bathroom, but he’d never deserted her before. Where would he go? The bench outside the cafeteria? No, it was occupied by a group of people grumbling about one of their members being late.

  For someone as tied to his phone as Gordon, he’d have called her or texted her, wouldn’t he? She turned on her phone, tapping her foot as it booted, then checked for messages or missed calls. Nothing.

  He must’ve gone ahead to their stateroom, the one place that would be theirs for the cruise. She might find him along the way, but there were too many routes through the ship to count on running into him.

  The corridor leading to the staterooms was open, and Angie hurried down the long hallway reading the room numbers on the signs, amazed again at how big the ship was. When she finally reached the correct door, she dug through her purse for her sea pass. When she inserted it in the lock, there was no click, no green light. She checked the number again. Right deck, right stateroom.

  Now what?

  Chapter 2

  ANGIE GLANCED AROUND in search of a crew person. She’d passed at least a dozen on her trek from the cafeteria. Where were they now? She wandered back the way she’d come and found a man dressed in a crew uniform pushing a luggage cart.

  “Excuse me?” she said.

  He returned her greeting with a beaming smile. “How can I help you?” His lilting cadence rang of the Caribbean.

  Angie explained her problem, and the man followed her to her room. She showed him her driver’s license, he tried the key. She didn’t know whether to be glad or upset when the lock didn’t open. Nothing like being too stupid to unlock a door. He tried his key, which opened the door without any problem.

  “Looks like yours is defective,” he said. “Guest Services is on Deck Five. They will help you.”

  He left, and Angie went inside and checked the space. Bigger than she’d expected. Their suitcases sat at the foot of a queen bed, the first thing that had gone right all day. Couch, coffee table, and a desk-counter-dresser unit made up the sitting area. A small closet. More storage than most of the hotels she’d stayed in.

  Sliding glass doors opened onto a balcony. Not the cramped cabin with the little round porthole she’d envisioned. Guess the term stateroom hadn’t been all hype. When Megan had said a good deal, she’d meant it.

  Angie opened drawers. No sign Gordon had been in here. His Dopp kit wasn’t in the bathroom, his backpack wasn’t on the bed, the couch, or in the closet. The balcony, with its two chairs and small glass table, was empty.

  She left her carryon in the middle of the narrow corridor inside the door, where Gordon couldn’t miss it. She hoped he’d trip over it. A flyer lay on the bed, detailing all the activities available today. After a cursory skim, Angie set it on the counter. She found a small notepad and a pen, and left him a note.

  Key didn’t work. Gone to Guest Services on 5. Text me. My phone is on.

  She sent the same message as a text to Gordon, not sure whether there was enough—or any—signal, or if he’d gone unplugged as he’d promised.

  She shut the door behind her and wended her way to the elevators.

  On Deck Five, Angie’s heart sank at the line—more like a crowd—at the Guest Services desk. She had no choice but to wait. And wait, all the while scanning the passersby for Gordon and checking her phone for messages.

  When she reached the front of the line, the Guest Services rep welcomed her with a cheery smile. The ability to smile for hours on end must be a job requirement.

  The rep checked her card. “Demagnetized. Did you keep it near a cell phone?”

  Angie gave a sheepish nod. “Yes, I had them together in a compartment of my purse.”

  “That’ll do it.” She asked Angie to show ID, and within seconds, gave Angie a new pass and was helping the next in line. Her smile hadn’t faded.

  Angie put the pass in her purse, and her phone in her back pocket. Telling herself if anything serious had happened to Gordon, she’d have been notified, she wandered the Promenade Deck. Anger shifted to fear. Should she have asked someone to check the men’s room? What if Gordon had passed out? No. Someone would have notified the crew, and they’d have been able to figure out Gordon was travelling with her. Wouldn’t they? Was everyone so busy with getting all the passengers on board that they would have taken him to an infirmary and not bothered to check further?