Deadly Reunion by June Shaw Page B

than his food—until he said the word Cajun . He said it with disdain.
    Gil’s face whipped toward him.
    “Since we have invited a Cajun chef during this cruise, tonight you will see the additional choice he prepares that is called Seafood Steak,” Sandkeep said.
    “Yum,” Jane and Sue responded.
    “It’s excellent,” I told them.
    Many heads nodded, and people looked pleased about the dish the chef mentioned. Executive Chef Sandkeep gave Gil a swift glance with a grimace. Gil watched him, eyes hard and calculating. “So enjoy your meal and the rest of your evening,” Sandkeep said.
    Jane gripped my arm. “Tell me about Seafood Steak.”
    I wanted to keep watching Gil. I normally enjoyed eyeing him, especially tonight with him looking fantastic in that tux. But I was most interested in the unhappy gazes between Gil and Sandkeep.
    Our steward handed us open menus with soup, salad, and entrée choices.
    “Look, this tells about it,” I said to Jane, pointing at the inserted half-page headed Seafood Steak .
    “Man, that looks good,” Sue said, nudging Randy and skimming the description. “It’s a fried steak that blends shrimp and crabmeat with many seasonings and is topped with a crayfish cream sauce. I want it.”
    “I don’t,” Randy said. “I’m having the rib-eye steak.”
    “You can have beef any day of the week. This is unique.” Sue spoke in an argumentative tone. Her lips were tight, her chin lifted. The profile made her Adam’s apple project, a reminder that at least parts of her remained male. I considered Jonathan. Was she with him right before he died? I needed to find out. Maybe Gil and I were the only people who knew they’d been together some time before Jonathan died.
    “May I take your order?” Our steward’s presence calmed the situation at the table.
    “Tell me something,” I said, and he smiled, glancing at my menu and surely expecting me to ask about a dish on it. “Do you know yet how that man onboard died?”
    Sue gasped, and our waiter straightened, face solemn. “I know nothing about it.”
    And you wouldn’t say it if you did . I ordered the cup of Chicken Gumbo and the Seafood Steak with sweet potato fries and then looked for Gil.
    He stood near his table with his uncle, speaking to the Executive Chef. The chef gave Gil what appeared a drippy handshake, barely touching Gil’s hand with his fingers. Aiming a smile at the doctor, the chef exchanged a seemingly firm handshake with him and then walked away.
    Gil peered across the room at me. Happy tingles started in my feet and danced higher.
    “It’s about time,” Jane told Tetter, joining us at the table.
    “I was checking out things around the boat and didn’t notice the time,” Tetter said. Our waiter set a napkin on her lap and handed her a menu, and she pointed out dishes.
    Her lateness didn’t concern me. What surprised me was that, on this formal night, she still wore the casual clothes she’d worn all day. Her hair was mussed as though she had just climbed out of bed. Faint mascara smudges stretched beneath her eyes. As her gaze slid to Randy, a demure smile played around her lips.
    He beamed at her.
    Uh-oh, this didn’t look good. I feared they’d spent lots of time together since we left them, but not at the art auction. They could have spent quality time in Randy’s stateroom. And then he spruced up and changed into a suit, leaving her in bed to join us later so they wouldn’t walk in at the same time. She could have fallen asleep, awakened, and seen it was so late she decided to come straight here instead of concerning herself with changing clothes.
    Or maybe that’s just what I would do—if I had been making mad love with Gil.
    I looked for him. He was nowhere to be seen.
    My disappointment felt like a gloomy day had set in.
    Chitchat at our table no longer interested me. Gumbo, the ultimate comfort food, inched up my mood a pinch. Our entrees arrived. Randy and Tetter insisted their rib-eyes