Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries 10 - Bed and Breakfast and Cruises Page 3

  I stared down at the hodge-podge of food on my plate.

  “Actually, maybe that is one thing I do really miss. This is great and all, but there’s nothing like the taste of home.”

  “I hear that. Mom’s cooking. Dad’s grilling.”

  Ethan looked nostalgic for a second, before shaking his head again. “Want to get another plate?”

  We’d made short work of both of ours. Long work days really can give you an appetite.

  “No, I’m good. I’m so good at loading my plate up now, that just one trip is enough.”

  “What about a walk, then a coffee at Mimi’s?”

  “Now that sounds like a plan. I probably need a walk after all that food.” I nodded my head down at my perfectly clean plate. “Did you know there’s a maze on the ship?”

  It was dangerously close to work talk, but if we were going to go for a walk, we needed to go somewhere, so why not there.

  “Oh yeah, they set it up when we were back at port last. The whole thing is in containers. They set them up for events and things all around the country, but I think this is the first time it’s been done on a ship.”

  “I bet no B&B in the Cotswolds has one,” I muttered to myself.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. I can’t tell you now since we’re not talking about work.”

  “I’m regretting suggesting that rule. Come on. Let’s go check it out.”

  We walked across the International Buffet side-by-side, but not hand-in-hand. As employees we had to follow the rules, after all. Just before we got to the exit, Ethan froze.

  “What is it?”

  “My phone. It’s in my pocket. And it’s vibrating. I’m hoping it’s going to stop and then I’ll pretend I didn’t notice.”

  We both stood still while we waited. I could see the tension on Ethan’s face. He wanted to answer it, but he also wanted to not answer it. If it simply stopped, the dilemma would be resolved.

  It did not stop.

  With an annoyed but muted sigh, Ethan pulled out the phone. He held out the screen so I could see it before he answered. It read Captain (New).

  “Yes?” he answered tersely. For a moment he listened, phone pressed tightly against his ear. “What, now? You can’t... I see. Okay. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  “You’ve got to go, huh?”

  Ethan shoved his phone back into his pocket with more annoyance than I was accustomed to seeing from him.

  “I do, the Captain says—”

  “Shh, no work talk, remember?” I told him.

  That got a small smile out of him.

  “I’ll send you a message later. Sorry again, Addy,”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find something to do.”

  Ethan gestured with his head across the room. “Looks like Greg Washington’s having a night off by himself over there.”

  I turned to see, and sure enough, Greg Washington, one of the ship’s chefs and a friend of ours, was sitting alone at a table. When he saw me looking his way he waved at me and made a gesture at the empty seat opposite him.

  “Guess I’ve got myself a replacement date. See ya!”

  With a laugh Ethan departed and I walked across the restaurant to join Greg.

  “You’ve got excellent taste, dumping him for me,” said Greg, followed by a loud cackle of laughter, delighted at his own joke.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” I said with a laugh as I sat down opposite him.

  “Grab a plate. Get some food in you.”

  “I guess I did only have one plate earlier…”

  The walk across the restaurant with Ethan had done wonders for my appetite. I returned a couple of minutes later with just a few snacky items on my plate. Of course I wasn’t that hungry, but it was nice to have something to nibble on.

  “How come you’re not working?” I asked him.

  “Honey, I started at five o’clock this morning to get this ship ready to sail.”

  “Oh.”

  “Why ain’t you working.”

  I pulled out my phone. “I am.” I proceeded to take a picture of my plate of food. I tapped at the screen, and a moment later I’d put the image through a filter, and added a caption about self-control at a buffet. “See? Now I’ll just post this…”

  “I can’t believe that’s a job,” said Greg, leaning back in his chair and laughing. I knew he wasn’t jealous. He enjoyed his cooking too much to be envious of the way anyone else went about their work.

  Greg pushed himself upright in his chair, and leaned forward. In a low voice, he hissed, “Is that Alex Martinez?”

  “I have no idea who that is.”

  “Excuse me! Excuse me!” said Greg loudly as he stood up, attracting the attention of a dark haired young man who had been passing nearby. “Are you Alex Martinez?”

  The man smiled, nodded, and walked over to our table.

  “A pleasure to meet you! I’m Greg Washington and I’m one of the chefs here. It’s my night off. Are you sitting anywhere? Do you want to join us?”

  “I hadn’t chosen a table yet. So I guess I could join you. This looks like a table for two, though…?”

  The newcomer also spoke with a British accent, and I guessed he must be something to do with the B&B crowd as well. Perhaps one renowned for its food, I thought.

  “Move over, Addi, and get him a chair, quick!”

  Slightly annoyed and slightly amused I did as I was told, liberating an unused chair from a nearby table and rearranging our own table so as to create a space for a third person to join. I had no idea who this Alex Martinez was, but Greg seemed to think he deserved the royal treatment.

  As soon as he was seated, Greg was onto Alex, not even taking the time to introduce me.

  “Now, tell me, do they taste as divine as they look?”

  Great. Another chef of some kind, I deduced.

  Alex leaned forward, smiling. “Probably — but which are you talking about?”

  “The Vesuviuses — or should that be Vesuvii? The gorgeous chocolate brownie mountains with the fondant inside.”

  “Oh! You mean my death-by-chocolate-vesuvius!” Alex nodded to himself happily. “I don’t like to brag, but…”

  “They do! They do, they do, they do!” Greg finished his excited praise with a punch to Alex’s arm. He then turned to me. “They taste divine, Addi, you hear that? Divine.”

  “I am curious though, how do you know about that? While I’ve had some small success, I wasn’t aware that I had any notoriety this side of the pond.”

  “Before we set off, I always check the passenger lists to see if there’s anyone interesting. And I saw your name, and your business, supplying desserts to B&Bs, so I looked you up online. And when I saw the pictures of your creations, I said, ‘Greg, you’ve got to meet this genius!’ And so, there you have it!”

  “I am truly honored. Truly. And is this your, err, paramour?”

  His what now? Finally someone had remembered I was still there at least.

  Greg laughed. “Her? Oh, no. No way.”

  “I’m dating the ship’s First Officer,” I said icily. I knew Greg wasn’t trying to be mean, but he was. “Addison James, social media manager.”

  “Social media manager? What a fascinating line of work. Unfortunately I am not successful enough to hire my own social manager yet, but perhaps one day I’ll have a little Addison of my own.”

  “What is it you do, exactly? You’re a chef?”

  Alex lifted his chin in tentative agreement. “Of a sort. I have a catering company. So I’m a chef in that I do my best to come up with delicious creations, and then I sell them on to B&Bs. Never independent restaurants or large hotels, only to small B&Bs that specialize in home cooking, but don’t have quite enough time to do all of it in house. We’re not cheap, but we’re the best.”

  “It’s true, he is the best,” said Greg with a serious series of nods in my direction. “I checked. You know what, Addi, you should do a feature on h
im! I bet everyone would love to read about how he comes up with his ideas.”

  Alex shook his head and laughed. “Oh, no thank you. I’d rather not if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “I’m terribly shy.”

  I didn’t believe that was the reason at all. He didn’t seem overly shy to me, and it would only be an article anyway — it’s not like you have to get up on a stage and perform.

  “Have you always been in that line of work?”

  “Not exactly. I used to work for a lady called Geraldine Whitney, I was the chef at her B&B. She was the head of the B&B association at the time.”

  “I met her earlier. She seems…” I was trying to think of a polite word to describe her, but I didn’t manage to come up with one before Alex finished my sentence for me.

  “Rude?”

  I squeezed my lips tightly shut. I couldn’t go around calling other guests rude, especially not if they knew each other.

  “Right, you can’t say. But I can. She’s rude, and, to be perfectly frank, quite horrible. But enough about her.”

  I tried not to laugh, but I think Alex saw the corners of my mouth twitching. He leaned back on his own chair, an amused look on his face.

  “I guess she at least helped you get your business started though?” asked Greg. “She must have a lot of contacts.”

  “Not many people would describe Geraldine as helpful.” Alex pointedly turned his head toward the nearest section of the buffet. “But tell me, whose idea was it to put sweet chili sauce inside the Louisiana spring rolls?”

  Greg modestly raised his hand in the air. “Guilty.”

  “Outstanding! I’m going to get half a dozen of the little blighters when I go up in a minute. I’m impressed you managed to maintain the airy crispiness of the shell with such a moist interior.”

  “I’ve got a little trick, you see, what I do—”

  I stood up. “Excuse me, guys? I’ve just realized I’ve got to get going. And it’ll give you more room at this table. Have a good evening.”

  I liked eating the food a lot more than hearing the intricate details of how the dishes were prepared, and I could tell the conversation was only going to get more and more focused on the dull little details of the cooking process and the culinary world.

  With a wave, I left the two foodies and went off on my way to see if I could track down Sam or Cece instead.

  Chapter 3A

  Five minutes later it was time for some more food. This time, dessert.

  I met Sam and Cece in the ship’s premiere ice cream shop, Two Scoops, and ordered myself a scoop of vanilla and a scoop of chocolate before sitting down.

  “What’s that? Vanilla?” asked Cece contemptuously as she pointed her own double-chocolate covered spoon at the lighter of the two scoops in my bowl. “Are you on a diet?”

  Laughing, I shook my head. “Vanilla doesn’t have fewer calories than the other flavors.”

  Cece tilted her head quizzically. “Then why eat it?”

  “You have a very unrefined palette, Cece. Vanilla is actually one of the most delicious and decadent flavors of ice cream there is — if it’s done right.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ll stick to double chocolate with chocolate sauce and sprinkles thanks very much.”

  “How are things, Addi?” asked Sam once the more urgent job of mocking my ice cream choice was out the way.

  “Fine. Thanks for leaving me with Geraldine, by the way. She was a blast.”

  “Really?” asked Sam in surprise.

  “No.”

  Cece laughed at that. I think I picked up some of my harsher sarcasm from her.

  “She’s a right pain. I left her at the maze earlier when I couldn’t put up with her anymore. She’s rude, and cold, and has no sense of humor.”

  “The British lady? With the gray hair and the sour look on her face?” asked Cece.

  “Sounds about right,” I confirmed.

  “Yeah I met her, when I went to check out the maze. She wanted to know the way out so I pointed her in the wrong direction.”

  “Why’d you do that?” I asked, laughing.

  “She was rude. She called me girl and snapped her fingers at me to get my attention. There ain’t no one who speaks to me like that.”

  “Good,” I said with a smirk.

  “What’s all this talk of mazes? You don’t mean a literal maze, right?” Sam had a puzzled look on her face, not unlike the one I must have had earlier.

  “Yep. A literal maze. They built it out of potted shrubs out on the rear deck. It’s pretty impressive, actually.”

  “No way. I heard passengers mention it when they were checking in, but I thought they were talking about something they saw onshore. Why’ve we got a maze?”

  I shrugged. “Cece?”

  “I think it’s something to do with the B&B people. The company that does the maze is looking for new customers, and maybe one of the B&Bs will want to buy their own maze.”

  “That seems a bit extravagant for a B&B.” I spooned up some vanilla ice cream and let it melt in my mouth while I thought. “I guess they all need their unique selling points though.”

  “There’s a garden, too,” said Cece. “Just beyond the maze. It’s all stuff in pots and planters, but it’s pretty nice. It’s supposed to be an English style garden I think.”

  “And is it? English style?”

  Cece shrugged. “I dunno. It’s got flowers and stuff. Is that English?”

  Sam and I looked at each other and laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. Where’s the good doctor this evening?”

  Cece rolled her eyes. “Dishing out seasickness pills. I mean, how can you even get seasick on a ship this size? It barely even moves.”

  “Totally,” said Sam with a contemptuous shake of her head.

  Sam had clearly forgotten that on her own first cruise she’d been brought down by a terrible case of sea sickness herself.

  Cece stared down into her ice cream bowl, spooning at the remains but not lifting it to her mouth.

  “Ryan said something weird, when we were onshore.”

  “Weird? Like what?” I tried to look into Cece’s eyes to see if I could glean a rough idea of what she meant, but she was staring resolutely down.

  “He said… he said…”

  “What?” asked Sam and I together.

  “He said he’d like me to meet his family.”

  “And…”

  “And that’s, weird, right?”

  “Nope. That’s what people do. They get together, things get more serious, and they meet each other’s families, Cece.”

  “You haven’t met Ethan’s family,” she said pointedly.

  “Not yet, but I will. I’m looking forward to it in fact. Apparently his Dad grills pretty good.”

  Of course I was not really looking forward to it. I did want to meet Ethan’s family, but of course I was nervous. What if I made a bad first impression? What if I said or did something stupid?

  “But what if they hate me?” asked Cece. “He’s a doctor and I’m a… not a doctor.”

  “I’m sure they wouldn’t be shallow enough to care about anything like that.”

  “His last girlfriend was a dermatologist,” she said glumly.

  “So what? It’s you he likes, and if he likes you, I’m sure his family will too.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe I could just get off in Mexico and start a new life or something?”

  Sam and I both narrowed our eyes at her, trying to judge whether she was kidding or not. If it was anyone else, of course we would know it was a joke, but with Cece…

  “I’m kidding! Guys, come on!”

  Laughing, I patted Cece on top of her hand.

  “You just need to stop worrying. I’m sure if you just be yourself, they’re bound to love you. We all do, after all.”

  Cece leaned back in the booth, nodding her head to herself slowly.

  “I guess you’re right. You do
all love me, don’t you?”

  Not sure whether to roll my eyes or laugh, I did a combination of the two, and soon all of us were giggling away again.

  Cece seemed to be over her fear of meeting Ryan’s family, at least for the moment, and I think we were all looking forward to the rest of the cruise.

  Two scoops turned into four as we continued to chat, and then, finally, and wearily, we headed back to our cabins for the evening.

  But it seemed that barely had my head hit the pillow, it was time to wake up and get back to work again.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning, Sam and I went to the B&B association’s first proper ‘second B’ after they had emerged from their ‘first B’ that morning. That’s breakfast.

  While usually they would be dining in the ship’s restaurants, for their inaugural breakfast they had a special partitioned-off section of the International Buffet set aside for themselves, and their very own special menu.

  “What’s the difference between a Full English Breakfast and a Full Scottish Breakfast? And a Full American one, for that matter?” asked Sam when we arrived. The sign at the door had read, Menu: Full English and Scottish Breakfasts.

  “Thanks!” I replied jauntily.

  Sam reached out a hand and tapped me on the side of my head with a knuckle. “Are you okay? Hello?”

  “Oh, sorry. Your question gave me a great idea for an article. I’ll write about exactly that: the difference between English, Scottish and American breakfasts.”

  “And don’t forget Irish,” said a lady with a lovely lilting Irish accent of her own, right in my ear.

  With a start, I turned to see who had spoken and gave her a friendly smile.

  It was a short, stocky woman with auburn hair and lively green eyes. While she wasn’t exactly fat, she was broad of shoulder and had the air of a medieval castle’s chef in a period drama.

  “And what’s in an Irish breakfast?” I asked her curiously.

  “Well it’s like an English breakfast, only it’s needing soda bread, potato bread, white pudding and black pudding.”

  “That’s very helpful, thank you. And do they have those items here?” I nodded my head toward the buffet section.

  She shook her head.

  “No soda bread. No potato bread. It’s a disgrace, I tell you. A shameful disgrace.”