Spooning Daisy by Maggie McConnell

including cunning, duplicity, and bad faith.”
    “Not quite. Machiavelli believed that results counted, and nothing else.”
    “Like I said, all’s fair.”
    “ In politics. ”
    “Politics is about power. Same for love and war.”
    She looked at him curiously. “War, maybe. But do you really believe love is about power?”
    “I believe . . . I’ll take the Fifth.”

Chapter Ten
    “O kay, Elizabeth, you stay in here—” As if she could go anywhere. With Elizabeth safe in her carrier, Daisy set it inside the compact closet. “—And later I might have some lettuce or maybe even a tomato. Yum-yum. Now eat your dinner.”
    Beside the carrier was a plastic bowl filled with ice where Daisy had nestled the opened can of dog food and the jar of baby food. Not exactly a refrigerator, but it worked well enough. She closed the accordion door, leaving a gap for light, then made herself as comfortable on the bed as possible—knees up, magazine open against her thighs—but without messing up her hair, clothes, makeup, or bedspread. Which meant she wasn’t comfortable at all. With any of this. But she was desperate. Comfortable, no. Desperate, yes. And desperation makes a person do . . .
    She jumped at the knocking on her door, took a calming breath, and vowed to be pleasant. “Come in.”
    The door cracked open. “Ms. Moon?”
    Daisy bounced off the bed.
    “It’s Purser Smith.”
    Daisy grabbed the knob and pulled. “Did they find my Lexus?”
    “I’m sorry, no. I brought you meal vouchers,” the grandmotherly purser said. “I meant to bring them earlier, but a pregnant passenger went into labor and the day got away from me.”
    Daisy took the slips of paper and studied the top one.
    “You can use these in the cafeteria or dining room,” she said. “Just present one when you’re ready to pay. We’ll pick up the tab.”
    “That’s very kind,” Daisy said. “Thank you.”
    “We can’t let you starve now, can we? I bet you haven’t eaten all day.”
    Daisy shrugged and tried to look pitiful. Being the recipient of sympathy was not a bad thing.
    “Why don’t you have dinner? If you need anything at all, come by the office.” She started to leave, then didn’t. “You haven’t seen Mr. Kendall, have you?”
    Daisy snorted. “That would be unlikely.”
    “I suppose so.”
    “Is there a problem?”
    “I’ve been looking for him, that’s all. The couple with the new baby are leaving the ferry tomorrow in Ketchikan and their cabin will be available. No worries. Mr. Kendall will probably come by the office sometime. Enjoy your dinner, Ms. Moon.”
    Daisy again thanked Purser Smith and shut the cabin door.
    “This is a pickle.” Should she tell Max about the available cabin? How about the vouchers?
    Why was she debating this? Her meal vouchers were none of his business. And it was none of her business that Purser Smith was searching for Max. But Daisy feared she might have a less than laudable motive for keeping silent.
    Startled by knocks on her door, she dropped her gaze to the vouchers in her hand as if they were a smoking gun and she stood over a body. Three more knocks got her moving; she stuffed the vouchers inside her purse, hopped on the bed, and assumed her former position.
    “Come in.”
    The door eased open, tentatively at first, and there was Max, duffel bag in hand, as if he were coming for a long visit.
    “You know where the shower is.” Daisy sounded nonchalant, but the butterflies in her stomach took wing as Max gave her a quick once-over. She snuggled into her bulky Kelly-green fisherman’s sweater, which perfectly matched her eyes, and tried to ignore her discomfort. “Don’t make a mess, okay?”
    “It will be hard, but I’ll try to contain my barnyard inclinations.”
    “Your beard,” Daisy explained in a huff. “Shavings get all over the sink. There’s nothing more annoying than cleaning up after a grown man.”
    “Really? Nothing? ” He maneuvered his bulky bag and