Page 1 of Love Overboard
CHAPTER 1
WALKIE-TALKIE. BATTLE PLAN. BUTTERSCOTCHcandy.
Emily Windsor sifted through the mess in her cavernous purse. Her hand dug until she found a well-worn, faded picture. The cheeky grin of her late husband stared back as he stood resplendent in his dress whites and flashy aviator sunglasses.
How she missed that smile.
“Good morning, love.” She smoothed a creased corner on the photo. “Time to launch a new mission. I can imagine the scolding you’d give me. But this match is worth the meddling, Bill. Even you’d agree that sweet girl is worth it.
“Lord”—she pointed her eyes heavenward—“I hope you’re taking good care of my man up there.”
Emily riffled in a side pocket. She grabbed a small set of opera glasses with the wordsGolden Years Tour Companyprinted on the side. If her calculations were correct, the target should appear at any moment. She peeked around the corner. Her seventy-eight-year-old spine cracked twice as she bent.
“Mrs. Windsor?”
Her jaw tightened at the squeaky voice. She faced the first mate, Peter. His frowsy white-blond hair and pasty complexion combined with his pristine uniform to give him the appearance of a skinny, befuddled ear swab. Was he going to offer her another lecture on the proper behavior for cruise ship passengers? It would make the second one this week.
His gaze bounced to the binoculars and back again. “Did you lose something?”
“No, dear.” She stuffed the equipment in her bag and slid the straps over her wrist. “Just preparing for the voyage.”
Three bells sounded on the loudspeaker, followed by an announcement.
Peter pointed at the ceiling. “It’s time for muster. Shouldn’t you head for your deck?”
“Pish-tosh. The ship won’t fall apart if I miss one safety drill.”
She tapped an orthopedic sandal against the carpet. His patient expression brought to mind the nurses in the assisted living facility she’d briefly called home when she’d experienced a slight problem with her heart. He raised his voice and spoke in a slow, measured tone as if she was hard of hearing.
“I. Know. You’ve. Done it. Many. Times. But every. Passenger. Has. To be there.”
“I. Un. Der. Stand.” Emily pasted on her best doting-Nana impression. She patted his elbow. “Now don’t waste your time on me. You have a cruise to launch.” One more pat, and she headed for the elevators at the end of the hallway.
Peter called a goodbye at her retreating back and walked in the opposite direction. She waited until he was out of sight, then returned to her post. Nothing and no one would delay her mission of arranging a love match for Lacey Anderson. In the days gone by, when Emily still held out hope for children of her own, she had pictured a daughter just like the hard-shell, soft-center cruise ship hostess.
Lacey had adopted Emily without permission. The young woman always checked if the septuagenarian was eating well, taking her medicine, and getting enough exercise. It was bothersome in the most endearing way. That kind of mothering soul should have kids to love on, and Emily was determined to find the perfect father for those yet-unrealized offspring.
She drew a breath, poked her head around the corner, and jerked back. After Emily raised the walkie-talkie and pressed the side button, static crackled.
“All operatives, take your positions. Operation Ambush is a go.”
Lacey froze at the familiar sound. She recognized that voice.
Maybe it was a coincidence. There were lots of people on this deck. Lacey moved again, at a cautious pace this time.
No need to be paranoid. The sweet-but-salty meddler couldn’t possibly know where she was. Lacey had avoided Emily Windsor ever since she recognized the gleam in the lady’s eye. She used to laugh at the incorrigible woman’s matchmaking schemes, but now that they were focused on her, Lacey’s stomach quivered like a lifeboat in a hurricane. Romance wasn’t on her to-do list. Ever.
Static crackled, and Lacey heard the whispered words she feared.
“Target located.”
She fought the urge to run. It wouldn’t be dignified for a Monarch Cruises employee. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t take evasive maneuvers. She swung on her heel and skulked away.
The shiny faux-wood doors of the ship’s cabins zoomed by as she hurried through the connecting corridor that led to the parallel hallway. The heels of her navy pumps sank in the carpet and slowed her progress. Lacey glanced over her shoulder and saw a flash of floral print coming into view.
Not today!
She took a right and almost plowed into the noisy group of passengers filling the space. They pounded the back of a large, bearded man with a T-shirt declaring, in lime-green letters, “Walter’s 40th Wedding Anniversary.” Lacey straightened her white hostess jacket and sidestepped with a smile, her body pressed against the wall. They passed without acknowledging her, as she preferred—part of the invisible but efficient service customers bragged about when they reached home.
