the glasses lining the bar. “Not sure who that’d be. My staff tonight are all women.” His bar phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for the phone.
Great. So someone impersonating a waiter brought her a drink. That made the elimination process a whole lot tougher. He hadn’t gotten a look at the guy’s face, and Jen wasn’t going to be in any condition to look at passenger photos any time soon.
Sam pictured the man he’d glimpsed from behind. As soon as the bartender finished his call, Sam said, “The guy I’m looking for was about five-ten, short dark hair, wore a black-and-white waitstaff uniform. Did a guy fitting the description order a soft drink from you?”
“You with the woman in sick bay?”
How’d he—? The phone call. The nurse must’ve notified security already. “Yes.”
“I’m sorry. No men dressed like that ordered a drink from me.” He waved over a waitress. “Hey, did a waiter-looking guy order a drink from you?”
“No, I would’ve remembered that.” The woman laid her empty tray on the bar, along with an electronic cruise-card reader.
Although food was included in the cruise price, drinks weren’t, which meant that if a passenger bought Kate the drink, his card would’ve been swiped. “Hey, can you get security back on the phone and ask them to look up everyone who paid for a soft drink—” Sam glanced at his watch “—between four and four-thirty? If they can line up the customers’ photos, my friend should be able to identify the guy.” And Sam wouldn’t have to reveal he was FBI or that his interest in finding the guy went beyond a drugged drink.
“Sure thing. They’ll be all over it.”
Sam scratched his arm, his finger catching on a fine gold chain that was snagged on his sleeve. He carefully freed it, and a tiny cross slipped into his palm. Jen’s. He stroked his thumb over the delicate etching, recalling how fragile she’d felt in his arms.
He clapped his hand closed and shoved the pendant into his pocket. “Jezebel” had pretended to believe in God to wile her way into his confidence. Wearing a cross didn’t mean anything.
What he needed to know was who would want to knock Miss Robbins out? And why? And did the reason have anything to do with his investigation?
He needed to talk to her sister. He rode the elevator up to the Lido deck to grab some pizza slices for everyone first, then headed back to sick bay.
Outside Jen’s room, Sam got an update on her condition The doctor felt certain she’d been drugged, but would be fine, and her sister had opted not to have her transported off the ship.
“Anything?” Jake asked as Sam rounded the corner.
Sam shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if Jen could’ve been slipped the drug earlier because from what he’d seen, she’d only sipped whatever the waiter had brought her, and there’d been less than twenty minutes for it to take effect. Rohypnol was fast-acting, but...
He offered Cassandra a pizza slice. “I know the nurse asked you this before, but are you sure your sister didn’t eat or drink anything else? Maybe stop for a coffee before you boarded? Take any medicine?”
“I don’t know. We met at the pier and came straight aboard.” Cassandra had wiped the mascara streaks from her face, but she still looked as if she’d gone through an emotional ringer. “There was a fruit and chocolate basket waiting for us in our room. She might have taken something from it.”
“Do you mind if we go check?” He motioned to her plate. “After you’ve eaten. Knowing what your sister ate or drank might help the doctor speed her recovery.”
Cassandra ate faster and asked Jake to stay with Jen in case she woke while they were gone.
Sam leaned over the bed and brushed a wisp of hair from Jen’s cheek. She looked like Sleeping Beauty lying there, waiting for a handsome prince to awaken her with a kiss. His stomach fluttered at the thought and he quickly straightened. His hand knocked a crumpled paper on the bed. The note from the gallery curator?
Sam palmed the paper, stepped away from the bed and shoved his hand into his pocket. Taking a chair behind Cassandra’s line of sight, he glanced at the paper. A phone number. Seattle area code with the name Watson. He pulled up the internet on his cell phone and looked it up. John Watson, private detective.
Why was his suspect calling a PI?
Too soon, Cassandra was ready to head up to her room. He feigned surprise when her room turned out to be next to his—an arrangement that had cost the bureau an extra three hundred bucks. Their carry-on luggage lay open on the bed. Their larger bags hadn’t yet been delivered. Cassandra pointed to a large basket on the desk next to the balcony’s sliding glass door. The plastic wrap and ribbons lay open beneath it. “Looks like Jen got into it, but—” Cassandra sifted through the contents “—I’m not sure what she had. The water bottles are missing, but she probably put them in the fridge.”
Cass checked the small bar fridge in the opposite corner. “Yeah, there’s only the two bottles that our steward left here and one from the basket.”
Sam lifted an empty bottle from the trash can under the desk. “A raspberry-flavored water.”
“She always drinks the raspberry. I hate it. Tastes too much like medicine.”
“Who sent you the basket?”
“Oh.” Cass flushed, apparently cluing in to the implication of his question. “Uh, Uncle Reg.”
“And what flavor did your uncle include for you?”
“Blueberry.”
Sam dropped the empty bottle into a plastic bag sitting on the desk, along with the unopened bottle.
Cass gave him a curious look. “What are you going to do with those?”
“Show the ingredients to the nurse.” He had no means of testing it on the ship, but at the first port he could have it couriered to their Anchorage office or, better yet, he could send it back to Seattle with the pilot directing the ship out of the Sound. He glanced at his watch. He probably had time to catch him. “Could you collect any medicines Jennifer might have taken?”
“You think there might have been some weird interaction?”
“It’s a possibility.” He examined the fruit and chocolate in the basket for signs of tampering.
“I had that happen to me once. Broke out in hives whenever I ate a banana within a couple of hours of my multivitamin.” She dug through the night table drawer next to the bed and pulled out a box containing seasickness patches and a bottle of ibuprofen. “Switched vitamins and never got them again.” She dumped her find into his bag.
“Do you mind if I check the bathroom?”
“Go ahead. She’s particular about her moisturizers and shampoo and stuff. All scent-free. I don’t think any of that would have reacted.”
The bathroom barely had enough space to turn around in, let alone enough counter space to sort through her makeup bag. He carried it out and dumped the contents on the bed.
