Free Cooks Overboard by Joanne Pence

have another round of beer.”
    “Sure,” she said. “And then you two can tell me about something I’ve been curious about since I got on this ship.”
    “Oh? What’s that, Miss Amalfi?” Jones asked.
    “Why the cook went running off. He seemed so anxious to get away, he even tried to jump! Working in the galley can’t be that bad, can it?”
    “He was always a comedian,” Jones said. “It was just a joke. He’d planned to leave for some time.”
    “I hardly knew him,” Andrew Brown said as he stood up. “Excuse me. I have to get up at four-thirty. The crew is served breakfast at six, well before the passengers eat.”
    “My goodness,” Angie said. “I didn’t realize that.”
    “You’re right, Andy. I’d better come along, too.” Jones stood as well. “Good night, Miss Amalfi, and thank you for all your help.”
    With that, they both left.
    Angie stared after them. Was it something she’d said?

14
    He saw the small white house again. He was standing beside Yosh, and it was too quiet. He should have said something. The quiet bothered him. Something was wrong. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, to warn them. But no sound came out. He tried to yell, but he couldn’t. No matter how hard he tried to tell them to get back, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out .
    He opened his eyes but still couldn’t shake the vision of the house in the distance, and directly in front of him, the shoulders of men in dark blue, easing closer, closer to the house, just as they’d planned .
    Then the blast .
    And red…red oozing against the dark blue .
    He felt again the hands that pushed him back, out of the way, out of the line of fire .
    Paavo sat up. His heart was pounding from the dream, from the memory of the shoot-out, of Ed Gillespie being hit. He looked down at hisarms, his hands. But the blood that had sprayed all over him when Ed was shot was gone now.
    He stood and ran his hands over his eyes, through his hair.
    Today the city would be holding a funeral for Sergeant Ed Gillespie. A police officer’s funeral. Grand, poignant, and unbearably sad.
    He walked out into the sitting area and sat down on the sofa as the scene replayed yet again, as vividly as the day it happened.
    Hours passed. As the sun rose, Paavo felt the ship’s engines begin to vibrate. He went to the window and watched as they slowly left Long Beach harbor.
    He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before the creaking of the bed told him Angie had awakened. Quickly he sat down and opened a book.
    “Good morning,” she said sleepily, stumbling into the sitting area.
    “Good morning to you, too.” He held out his hand. She walked over and placed hers in his and he pulled her down beside him on the sofa. Her hand tightened and she smiled, then yawned.
    “Did you sleep well?” he asked, lightly touching her face, her cheek.
    “Quite well. What about you? Have you been up long?”
    “Since five or so,” he said, putting his arm around her back and drawing her head to his shoulder. She felt warm and cuddly. “I fell asleep early.”
    “So I noticed. Still, that’s much too early to get up,” she declared, running her hand over his chest, his stomach. His nose pressed against her hair, and he breathed in her warm, musky scent. He could feel his body come alive, his nerves tingling, taut.
    “Maybe you need to go back to bed and start the day all over again,” she added.
    “You may be right,” he whispered. Just then, his gaze caught his watch—eight-thirty. Ed’s funeral would start at nine.
    He suddenly felt cold and all but dead inside. His gaze met Angie’s for a moment, then he turned his head away and shut his eyes. Damn!
    He stood. “I think I’ll go try to find out how Sven Ingerson is doing. I’ll be back soon.” He forced a smile. “It’s day three of our vacation, after all. Time to get up and enjoy it.”

15
    Angie sat on the sofa after Paavo walked out the door.
    She wasn’t sure what to do. On the one