Murder for the Halibut by Liz Lipperman Page B

moved
     in for a better look.
    “Not at all. The night before we boarded the ship in Miami I was downtown on business
     and saw a young man getting roughed up by two hoodlums. This is what I got for stepping
     in, but at least I chased the thugs away before they could do too much damage to either
     of us.”
    Rosie’s eyes sparkled. Goose’s tale of heroism was like an aphrodisiac to her.
    “See anything unusual on those tapes?” Jordan asked, hoping the tapes had captured
     Casey and Marsha in the kitchen before the contest.
    Ray shook his head.
    “Nothing?” she asked, remembering the conversation she’d overheard when she and Rosie
     were hiding in the closet in the lady chefs’ room the night before. Marsha had actually
     admitted doing something sneaky in the kitchen before the competition.
    “Nothing out of the ordinary,” Goose answered.
    “Goose, if Rosie can spare you for a few seconds, I’d like to introduce you to the
     rest of my friends,” Ray said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
    It was old news to everyone around the table that Rosie was like a block of metal
     to a magnet whenever a tall older man was around, especially if said tall older man
     wore a uniform. Although Goose was dressed in jeans and an orange and blue plaid button-down
     shirt, the fact he was a security officer put him front and center on Rosie’s mental
     radar screen.
    Jordan snuck a peek toward the security chief and noticed his left hand was ringless.
     With salt-and-pepperhair cut in a short conservative style and green eyes that crinkled when he smiled,
     Jerry Goosman was just the kind of man Rosie was attracted to.
    Jordan smiled to herself, thinking she hadn’t yet met a good-looking man her friend
     wasn’t attracted to. Married four times—five if you counted her weekend-long remarriage
     to husband number three—Rosie knew her way around flirting. With her bleached blond
     hair pulled back into braids and her tie-dyed T-shirt that showed off a pretty good
     figure, she could have been a flower child from the seventies—and probably had been.
    Jordan almost felt sorry for the security chief, knowing her friend was about to start
     her mating ritual, which usually began before the unsuspecting man had a chance to
     catch his breath. She hoped Goose was up for the challenge, because once Rosie had
     her mind set, nothing stopped her.
    After introductions were made and the empty dessert plates cleared, Lola finally asked
     the question on everybody’s mind. “So, Goose, are you married?”
    His eyes darkened, and for a minute, Jordan thought he might tear up.
    “Technically, I am,” he admitted. “But it hasn’t been a marriage for a long time now.”
    The smile on Rosie’s face disappeared. “Please don’t tell me your wife doesn’t understand
     you.”
    Jordan made eye contact with Ray and braced herself for what she knew from experience
     would not be pleasant for the poor guy. Anyone who knew Rosie was aware that her pet
     peeve was infidelity, having been the victim of two womanizing husbands. Goose had
     just stepped on a live mine with blond braids and big blue eyes.
    “Mary Alice was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s five years ago.” He pointed
     to his chest. “After she bought me this God-awful shirt not once but twice in the
     same week, I knew something was terribly wrong. My wife was a schoolteacher and had
     the memory of an elephant, plus she hated plaid. I wore it then to please her and
     now because it reminds me of her.” He tilted his head back as if to stop a falling
     tear. After a moment, he continued. “I took care of her at home for as long as I could,
     but when she nearly died after setting the house on fire, I knew we needed help.”
    The silence that followed proved no one had a clue how to respond.
    Finally, Lola reached across the table and covered Goose’s hand with hers. “I’m so
     sorry. I took care of my mother while she withered away from