Free Jaine Austen 8 - Killer Cruise by Laura Levine Page B

what to do. And besides, everyone knows “No Smoking” applies to cigarettes, not pipes.

    Once she saw that I wasn’t going to weaken under her tyranny, the little despot had the nerve to kick us off the tram—right in front of the shark from Jaws . Which I didn’t mind a bit since I got to see the shark up close. Then two security guys showed up and gave us a ride back to the main entrance.

    Your mother’s making a big stink, but if you ask me, it all worked out for the best. Riding with the security guys, we got to see parts of Universal Studios that tourists never see! (How many people can say they rode past the War of the Worlds Porta Potties?)

    Now I’m off to the hardware store to pick up paint for that scuff mark on your wall.

    Love & kisses,

    Daddy
    To: Jaineausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: Picasso’s Eye

    Dear Jaine—

    Your father has gone to the hardware store to buy paint. He saw a tiny mark on your living room wall—so small you practically need a microscope to see it—and now he wants to paint over it. He insists one of the policemen did it with his nightstick, but if you ask me, Daddy probably did it himself bringing in the luggage.

    I told him he’d never be able to match the color of your wall. But he insists he can. He says he has Picasso’s eye for color. Ha! This from a man who can’t tell his black socks from his blue.

    Love from,

    Mom

Chapter 8

    I foolishly checked my e-mails the next morning on my way back from the breakfast buffet. And now my scrambled eggs were curdling in my tummy at the thought of Daddy running amok at Universal Studios. I’d be lucky if they ever let me in again.
    Things didn’t get much better when I ran into Samoa down in the Dungeon Deck.
    “Hey, Samoa,” I called out as he wheeled his supply cart along the corridor.
    “Good morning, Ms. Austen. How are you today?”
    “Fine. Great. Only I’d be a lot better if I had a pillow to sleep on. Didn’t you get my note?”
    “Yes, Samoa get note.”
    He smiled broadly, exposing several gold fillings.
    “So?” I said. “There’s a pillow missing from my cabin.”
    “Pillow not missing. Samoa has it.”
    “What are you doing with it?”
    “Samoa likes sleeping with two pillows,” he said, gracing me with another gold-laced grin. “Much more comfy.”
    Well, of all the colossal gall!
    “I happen to like sleeping with one pillow,” I pointed out, “and I don’t have it.”
    “You have pillow in cabin. Old and lumpy. But you have one.”
    “Actually, my cat’s using that one. So you need to bring me another,” I said, shooting him the sternest look in my repertoire.
    “Ah, yes. Your cat. We don’t want anyone finding out about kitty in cabin and locking her in dark, cold cage, do we?”
    Damn. He was playing the blackmail card again.
    “No,” I replied glumly.
    “So Samoa keeps pillow,” he grinned, “and everybody’s happy!”
    I knew where I wanted to shove that pillow right then.
    “How you coming along with my book?”
    “It’s coming, Samoa. It’s coming.”
    Grinding my teeth in frustration, I stomped back to my cabin, where I found Prozac snoring on the dratted pillow, having polished off a plate of baked ham I’d brought her earlier for breakfast.
    I was so darn steamed with Samoa, I couldn’t bring myself to work on his god-awful manuscript. Instead, I grabbed a tube of sun block and spent the next hour up on the pool deck doing crossword puzzles.
    Heaven. Absolute heaven.
    But like all good things it came to an end. At 9:45 I filled in a five-letter word for “devious devil” (no, it wasn’t “Samoa”) and put down my pencil.
    It was time for my class.

    When I showed up at my restaurant classroom, I was dismayed to see that my star pupils, Nancy and David, had gone AWOL. Drat. My anniversary couple were the only ones who’d expressed an actual interest in writing. How was I going to make it through the hour without them?
    If only Rita, the irritating