Free Crime of Their Life by Frank Kane

be his last year of cruising. He must be getting old if little things like these bothered him, after all these years!

CHAPTER 8
    Johnny Liddell stood at the rail, stared down into the thrashing water as it rushed past the hull of the ship to be congealed into a wake at its stern. The sun had gone down in a blaze of red that spilled a rosy glow over the water and left streaks of color in the sky. He took a last drag on his cigarette, flipped it out into the water. The screaming gulls that had followed the Queen from Barbados looking for a meal ticket had long ago given up and turned back.
    Carson Eldridge, his white hair covered by a plaid cap, nodded briefly as he passed Johnny on his second lap around the deck. There was no sign of his daughter, Fran, or the crew cut type on the deck. They were probably in the grand hall dancing to the after-dinner music, Liddell figured.
    Nor had he seen any of his table companions after they had all straggled out of the dining salon in ones and twos after the meal. The honeymooners, Harry and Belle Doyle, had remained oblivious to the rest of the diners through most of the meal, were the first to finish and disappear. Maurie Handel and his well-stacked wife had lingered only a short time after the honeymooners, then had beat a hasty exit. Only the “uncle and niece” were still dawdling over dessert when Liddell had left. He thought he detected signs of disillusionment on the part of the girl, wondered if the idyll would survive to the end of the cruise.
    The door to the Piccadilly Bar opened, Rita Keen stepped out on deck. She saw Liddell leaning against the rail, walked over to him. Her red hair was covered with a wisp of green silk; she had drawn a white cashmere sweater over her shoulders. Her body was ripe, lush. Swelling breasts showed over the top of her low-cut dress; a small waist hinted at the full hips, long shapely legs concealed by the fullness of the skirt.
    She stopped alongside Johnny, looked out at the streaked sky, the expanse of water as smooth as a millpond. “Quite a show tonight,” she commented.
    “In Technicolor,” Liddell agreed.
    She turned to him, gave him the full impact of her slanted eyes. “Would you have a cigarette? I left my purse in the cabin.”
    Liddell fumbled through his pockets, brought out a pack of cigarettes, held one out to her. She stuck it between her lips, accepted a light, waited until he had lit one for himself.
    “The cruise director was right, wasn’t he, Mr. Liddell—”
    “Johnny.”
    The redhead inclined her head. “Okay, Johnny. You did know my husband from some place, didn’t you?”
    Liddell took a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaled in twin streams from his nostrils. The wind caught the smoke, whipped it away. “That what your husband says?”
    Rita shook her head. “He wouldn’t discuss it. Said you just looked like someone he once knew. That’s all it was. Just a resemblance to someone.” She took the cigarette from her mouth, let smoke escape from half-parted lips. “I don’t think he was telling me the truth.” She studied the carmined stain on the end of the cigarette for a moment, brought her eyes up to his face. “Was he?”
    “I’ve never seen Peter Keen before and I never heard the name,” Liddell hedged. “Incidentally, where is your husband?”
    The redhead shrugged, with spectacular effect on the décolleté of her dress. “He’s a gin fiend. Plays every night from right after dinner until bedtime.” She pouted. “I’m a gin rummy widow.”
    Liddell shook his head. “No accounting for tastes.” He let his eyes roam from the top of her head to her feet and back with appropriate stops on the way. “I couldn’t keep my mind on the game knowing something like you was waiting for me at home.”
    She dimpled at the compliment. “Just for that, I’m going to let you buy me a drink.” She took a last drag at the cigarette, flipped it out into the water. She tucked her arm under his. “That