Free Toured to Death by Hy Conrad Page B

below-deck lounge.
    The Mrozeks sat in a sheltered nook of the sundeck. The New Jersey family was at work on their box lunches, layering the cuts of prosciutto and smoked beef and the slices of provolone onto fresh baguettes, then lacing them with sliced tomatoes and red leaf lettuce. Dominick was the first to finish off his sandwich. He ignored the apple and pear and turned to the impressive slice of icebox cake that had been placed in a plastic bubble at the bottom of his box.
    â€œHow’s the cake?” Burt Baker asked as he hobbled past their corner. Jolynn noticed Burt’s sly smile and recalled that this wasn’t the first time he’d hobbled past. Others were staring at them, as well, pretending not to.
    â€œGood,” Dominick mumbled. He swallowed and prepared for a second bite.
    â€œWhy is he asking about the cake?” Jolynn hissed, suspicion rising in her voice. Reaching into her box, she retrieved her own plastic bubble. Right away she could see a design in white and red decorating the chocolate top, a design composed of thin lines of frosting that were not centered on the slice but went straight to the edge, as if part of a larger pattern. “Are we eating someone’s birthday . . . ?” Then her mind flashed back to the inaugural dinner and the strawberry tarts. “Oh, my God. Dominick! Stop. The cake is a clue.”
    The other Mrozeks froze in mid-bite, sandwiches dangling from their mouths. Blankly, they stared at Dominick and the half-destroyed field of icing.
    â€œShit,” he mumbled, crumbs dropping from his chin.
    â€œDamn. They don’t even let you enjoy lunch.” Jolynn gingerly took the piece of cake from her stepson’s hands and placed it on the white scarf that they’d thrown over the vent cover to form their makeshift table. “Don’t just sit there,” she ordered her family. “Get out your cakes. Careful with the frosting.”
    A small crowd had gathered, keeping a respectful, perhaps fearful distance as Jolynn arranged her slice next to Dom’s half-eaten ruin. She was trying to match up the red and white lines.
    â€œIs it a message?” Vinny asked. “Maybe it’s a map. We’re lucky Jolynn’s so observant, aren’t we, boys?”
    â€œShut up, Vinny. We’re a laughingstock.”
    But no one was laughing. Whatever good-natured fun might have been sparked by the situation had been doused by Jolynn’s blanket of bile. Vinny and his twins probably would have enjoyed their predicament, all harmless attention and good humor. They probably would have erupted into big, embarrassed grins and received a hearty round of applause. But not with Jolynn.
    â€œYou can still decipher it,” Burt offered from a safe twenty feet away. “It’s a clue about Napoleon’s birthplace. On Corsica.” He was rewarded with a punch in the arm from his niece.
    â€œThat’s cheating.”
    â€œJust trying to preserve the peace.”
    â€œWe don’t need your condescending help,” snarled Jolynn.
    Burt Baker sighed and checked his watch. The four-hour ride suddenly seemed like an eternity.

CHAPTER 8
    C orsica would be a two-day stop. The chance to actually unpack had put everyone in a more relaxed mood, and allowed them to focus on things other than Daryl and his incessant travels. At dinner on the first night, Amy promised that nothing game related would occur before 2:00 p.m. tomorrow. No surprises. After that, they could expect the same unexpected chases and red herrings, secure only in the knowledge that whatever happened, they would be spending a second night at the Bellevue Grande Hotel. By the time dessert arrived, everyone had made plans, some for a morning on the beach, some for a relaxed brunch. No one suggested driving along the winding, rugged roads. They would be getting plenty of that when the game resumed tomorrow at two.
    â€œAmy. Yoo-hoo, Amy.” The female