Free Blue Moon by Linda Windsor

her dinner napkin, but before she could hand it to their host, a deckhand appeared and produced a hand towel from the bar. “Sir, dinner is ready to be served,” he announced, as unruffled by the mishap as his black, slicked-back hair. “Should we hold it until you’ve changed?”
    Arnauld shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. A little bit of water never hurt anyone.”
    â€œI’m truly sorry, Mr. Arnauld, both for the captain’s rudeness and my clumsiness. It seems like every time I talk about the Luna Azul I turn into a klutz.” Her cheeks felt hot as the pink hues of the sunset beyond the tree-lined shore. “It’s my first expedition and—”
    Arnauld put a finger to her lips. “Shush, shush, Jeanne. There’s no need for embarrassment at all. It is I who owe the apology for poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. As a fellow treasure hunter, I completely understand the need for secrecy in such things.” He held out her chair. “I meant only to make polite conversation. You are here on an archeological expedition. That is all I need to know.”
    With a scathing look at Gabe, Jeanne allowed her gallant—not to mention forgiving—host to seat her. Not that the captain noticed. Pamela the Red was feeding him a bite of shrimp. “You have to try this sauce I made,” she cooed. “Lots of pepper, hot like you always liked it.”
    Jeanne pressed her lips together. Shame she hadn’t tipped the platter to the left instead of the right. Although if that dress shrank any more— “And for the captain’s assurance,” Arnauld said, saving her from her feline thoughts, “come tomorrow, we will be on our way to Belize.” Opening his arms as though to embrace the lot of them, he continued. “So now, my friends, what do you say to glazed game hens with wild rice stuffing?”
    â€œAir-conditioning and gourmet dining?” Remy placed a hand over his chest, ecstatic. “I, for one, say I have died and gone to heaven.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Jeanne rose early the following morning, eager for a test run of the equipment that they’d spent yesterday loading onto the Fallen Angel . That they now had cots instead of hammocks to sleep on made everyone a little more chipper, especially Remy. He’d nabbed Ann first thing about setting up a motion-activated camera on the lagoon in front of the dining hall to catch footage of the tropical birds in their natural habitat.
    Just when she thought she knew everything about the professor, he surprised her with yet another interest. Jeanne took a basket of lunch provisions from the lodge cook. “Thank you, Lupita.”
    â€œI animate myself each morning to make fresh tortillas,” the cook boasted with pride. “If only Don Rudolfo would animate himself so. Lazy as a cow.”
    At that moment, the screen door to the porch swung open, admitting Pablo Montoya and the young men.
    â€œYou must put the food back in refrigeration for a while,” Pablo told Jeanne. “Gabe says that we are not departing until the Prospect does.”
    Jeanne frowned, glancing at her watch. Nine o’clock, already a late start. “We can’t afford to simply sit around and wait for a mechanic to fix Arnauld’s boat. That could take—”
    Pablo threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m not the captain . . . although he has his reasons.”
    â€œOne has red hair,” Nick mumbled to no one in particular as he picked up a paddle from the Ping-Pong table at one end of the large room.
    Jeanne forced a hot rise of indignation from her voice. “Well, whatever his reason or reasons, they’d better be good.”
    Of course, that the redhead was involved didn’t exactly come as a surprise, given the way Pamela had fawned over Gabe all night. But Jeanne would not stand for the complication of developing a personal interest or, for