Read Online Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise by Laura Levine - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Levine
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You really are my guardian angel.”
“Don’t be silly, hon,” she said, wrapping me in a perfumed hug. “I’m sure you’d help me out if I was in a jam.”
What neither of us knew at the time, of course, was that a jam of monumental proportions was right around the corner.
Chapter 7
I made my way across the dining room that night feeling pretty good about the new, improved me. My confidence was quickly shattered, however, by what I was about to see.
There, floating above the table next to mine, was a balloon reading, Happy 100th Birthday, Ethel! Sitting beneath the balloon was a frail old woman with pink cheeks and blue hair—Ethel, no doubt—wearing a button that said, Kiss me. I’m 100!
And that’s not all she was wearing.
You guessed it. The exact same outfit as mine.
Yes, folks, I’d shown up dressed like a centenarian.
“Jaine, how lovely to see you,” Emily said, catching sight of me.
Once more, the others had arrived before me and were seated with their cocktails. All dressed in non-rented togs far more fashionable than mine. Emily wore a spectacular lace gown, set off by a string of magnificent pearls I sure hope she was insured for. Maggie had on a champagne-colored halter dress that, although not particularly flattering to her generous upper arms, undoubtedly sported a designer label. Even Ms. Nesbitt had pulled out the stops and was wearing a tailored beige silk dupioni suit.
Kyle and Robbie both wore tuxes. And Robbie, I couldn’t help but notice, was looking particularly spiffy, his green eyes startling against his tan, his sun-streaked hair still wet from a shower.
I smiled feebly and slipped into the vacant seat next to Emily, feeling about as stylish as the Volga boatman. I just prayed they hadn’t noticed my centenarian fashion twin.
No such luck.
“Oh, Jaine,” Ms. Nesbitt said, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You’re wearing the same outfit as the hundred-year-old lady over there. Isn’t that cute!”
I felt like shoving a dinner roll in her big fat mouth.
But I did not do any roll-shoving, because at that moment Graham Palmer III came gliding up to our table, once more channeling Cary Grant. I tell you, the man was born to wear a tuxedo.
“Good evening, everyone,” he purred in a deep baritone.
“Guess what?” Emily’s face glowed with pleasure. “I’ve invited Graham to join us for dinner.”
Kyle looked up from his martini, not bothering to hide his irritation.
“But he’s not assigned to our table.”
“He is now, dear. That maitre d’ said there’d be no problem if Graham sat with us for the rest of the cruise.”
“The rest of the cruise?” Kyle washed down this news with a big gulp of his drink.
“I had him bring an extra chair to our table,” Emily said.
Indeed, for the first time I noticed an empty chair at the table, two spaces down from Emily. I’d been so wrapped up in my fashion crisis, it hadn’t registered before.
“Leona, dear,” Emily said to Ms. Nesbitt, “why don’t you take that chair, so Graham can sit next to me?”
Nesbitt blanched in disbelief, her face almost as white as her napkin.
“But I hate to trouble Ms. Nesbitt,” Graham said smoothly. “I can sit over there.”
“No!” Emily cried, like a child whose favorite toy has just been threatened. “I want you here next to me.”
Jaw clenched tight in anger, Nesbitt grabbed her drink and changed seats, fuming as Graham slid into her vacated spot.
And Nesbitt wasn’t the only one who was pissed. Kyle, clearly upset at having this interloper in our midst, polished off his martini and signaled the waiter for another.
Yes, indeedie, there was tension in the air.
And matters did not improve when the waiter returned to take our orders.
“Madame?” he asked, starting with Emily.
“The Steak Mexicana looks awfully good,” she said.
It sure did. According to the menu, it was “broiled to perfection and smothered in onions and roasted red
“Don’t be silly, hon,” she said, wrapping me in a perfumed hug. “I’m sure you’d help me out if I was in a jam.”
What neither of us knew at the time, of course, was that a jam of monumental proportions was right around the corner.
Chapter 7
I made my way across the dining room that night feeling pretty good about the new, improved me. My confidence was quickly shattered, however, by what I was about to see.
There, floating above the table next to mine, was a balloon reading, Happy 100th Birthday, Ethel! Sitting beneath the balloon was a frail old woman with pink cheeks and blue hair—Ethel, no doubt—wearing a button that said, Kiss me. I’m 100!
And that’s not all she was wearing.
You guessed it. The exact same outfit as mine.
Yes, folks, I’d shown up dressed like a centenarian.
“Jaine, how lovely to see you,” Emily said, catching sight of me.
Once more, the others had arrived before me and were seated with their cocktails. All dressed in non-rented togs far more fashionable than mine. Emily wore a spectacular lace gown, set off by a string of magnificent pearls I sure hope she was insured for. Maggie had on a champagne-colored halter dress that, although not particularly flattering to her generous upper arms, undoubtedly sported a designer label. Even Ms. Nesbitt had pulled out the stops and was wearing a tailored beige silk dupioni suit.
Kyle and Robbie both wore tuxes. And Robbie, I couldn’t help but notice, was looking particularly spiffy, his green eyes startling against his tan, his sun-streaked hair still wet from a shower.
I smiled feebly and slipped into the vacant seat next to Emily, feeling about as stylish as the Volga boatman. I just prayed they hadn’t noticed my centenarian fashion twin.
No such luck.
“Oh, Jaine,” Ms. Nesbitt said, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “You’re wearing the same outfit as the hundred-year-old lady over there. Isn’t that cute!”
I felt like shoving a dinner roll in her big fat mouth.
But I did not do any roll-shoving, because at that moment Graham Palmer III came gliding up to our table, once more channeling Cary Grant. I tell you, the man was born to wear a tuxedo.
“Good evening, everyone,” he purred in a deep baritone.
“Guess what?” Emily’s face glowed with pleasure. “I’ve invited Graham to join us for dinner.”
Kyle looked up from his martini, not bothering to hide his irritation.
“But he’s not assigned to our table.”
“He is now, dear. That maitre d’ said there’d be no problem if Graham sat with us for the rest of the cruise.”
“The rest of the cruise?” Kyle washed down this news with a big gulp of his drink.
“I had him bring an extra chair to our table,” Emily said.
Indeed, for the first time I noticed an empty chair at the table, two spaces down from Emily. I’d been so wrapped up in my fashion crisis, it hadn’t registered before.
“Leona, dear,” Emily said to Ms. Nesbitt, “why don’t you take that chair, so Graham can sit next to me?”
Nesbitt blanched in disbelief, her face almost as white as her napkin.
“But I hate to trouble Ms. Nesbitt,” Graham said smoothly. “I can sit over there.”
“No!” Emily cried, like a child whose favorite toy has just been threatened. “I want you here next to me.”
Jaw clenched tight in anger, Nesbitt grabbed her drink and changed seats, fuming as Graham slid into her vacated spot.
And Nesbitt wasn’t the only one who was pissed. Kyle, clearly upset at having this interloper in our midst, polished off his martini and signaled the waiter for another.
Yes, indeedie, there was tension in the air.
And matters did not improve when the waiter returned to take our orders.
“Madame?” he asked, starting with Emily.
“The Steak Mexicana looks awfully good,” she said.
It sure did. According to the menu, it was “broiled to perfection and smothered in onions and roasted red
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