The fourth book in the Pauline Sokol series, 2006

“What? A boat? I mean a ship? I could fall overboard and drown! It could sink! Look at what happened to the Titanic!”

My skuzzy boss, Fabio Scarpello, glared at me with-well, one could never really know what Fabio thought, so I decided not to even guess.

It was more than likely X-rated anyway.

He puffed on a relit cigar. “The ship sails from New York to Miami to Bermuda and back. Who the hell ever heard of an iceberg in those waters?”

I wanted to argue that there might be pockets of cold water out in the Atlantic that could form into an iceberg, but I knew my imagination was just trying to come up with some wild excuse not to go. I wasn’t going to mention my being prone to seasickness though. Fabio would turn that into something embarrassing.

After a few more puffs, he said, “Look, doll-”

“Don’t call me doll. Ever.” I sat straighter in my seat across from his mold-covered desk. Okay, maybe mold-covered was a bit strong, but I was guessing there had to be something growing beneath the used paper plates, coffee cups, piles of ashes and files. He had my folder in his hand.

“Okay, newbie-”

“Pauline, Ms. Sokol or Investigator Sokol will do fine,” I started to sip on my decaf café latté that my coworker, friend and roommate Goldie had made me earlier, then decided it more than likely had been contaminated when I’d walked into Fabio’s office.

He cursed under his breath. “Investigator Sokol is a stretch, but if you want to keep your freaking job, you better take this freaking case. High seas or not.”

A nurse on a cruise ship.

I should have been excited about the assignment. I mean, come on. Salty sea air, wind in my hair, sun, bronzed males, coral sand of Bermuda and…waves. My stomach lurched.

And back into the old nursing career. That same career that I kept vowing I would never go back to. Damn.

He shoved the file toward me. “Want it or not?”

Not would have been my first choice. Pauline Sokol was not one for change. Pauline Sokol was not one for water transportation. And Pauline Sokol was not one to be stuck out in some nautical God-knows-where, investigating medical-insurance fraud…alone.

Admittedly, I’ve never been out of New England for a vacation or any other reason, and that probably had something to do with my reluctance to try new things. Hope Valley, a very “ethnic” community, had been my home for thirty-five years-and I kinda liked my feet on Mother Earth.

But there were those nasty things called bills that had invaded my life. And they required being paid. And that required money. Sigh. I looked up to see Fabio tapping his cigar into the dirty ashtray.

Amid the flying ashes, he asked, “Well?”

I snatched the folder. “When do I leave?”

“Friday.”

“Friday? It’s already Wednesday.”

“One of the staff nurses onboard got, er…sick. It’s perfect. Just perfect. Bon voyage, doll.”

I decided to ignore Fabio calling me doll again since my mind got stuck on the word Friday. April 13. Perfect. My new assignment would start on an unlucky day. I hurried out of his office and paused in the hallway for a breath of fresh air.

“Suga!”

I spun around to see my tied-for-best friend in the world, Goldie, rushing down the hall. My other roommate and other tied-for-best friend in the world and Goldie’s “honey” was Miles Scarpello. Fabio’s nephew. Adopted. His saving grace.

There is a God.

Goldie dressed in Gucci, Prada and Armani. Sometimes from the ladies’ department, sometimes from the men’s. But I still loved him, and he always looked like a movie star. Today he ushered in spring with a pink, black, white and orange spiral-patterned sweater over black slacks and a pink camisole top. He wore a Sandra-Dee-blonde ponytail wig that looked more real than my natural blonde hair. Looked very sixties. And very beachy. How fitting.

Maybe I could borrow the outfit for my cruise.

“So, Suga”-he yanked me into his office, which looked like a cross between New Orleans (Goldie’s hometown) and the jungle. Gotta love his unusual taste-“what’s your new assignment?”

I held the folder out toward him as if it were a snake. “Here, you look. I don’t have the stomach for it so early in the morning.”

Goldie patted my head in a very Goldie-like sort of way. “Let’s take a look-see.” He ripped a pink-printed nail through the end of the envelope, and amid the tearing sound mumbled, “Shit.”

“Shit? What does shit mean?” I slumped down on the zebra couch, feeling a bit faint. I think the color drained from my cheeks upon hearing Goldie’s tone alone.

He looked at me for a few seconds. I had the sudden thought that he was making up some kind of lie. That hurt, but if Goldie lied to me, it would have been for my own good.

“I…well, what I meant was…Shit, you get to go on a cruise to some warm, sunny island, and I’ll be stuck in stupid Hope Valley, Connecticut, with temperatures in the fifties all month.” He took a gigantic swig of his coffee. Goldie never swigged.

I could only stare. Was Goldie really concerned with the temperature? Or had he seen something in the folder that I should be worried about? After several minutes of silence and then him offering me another latté over and over, I finally asked, “Gold, are you lying to me?”

“Yes!” flew out of his mouth on a breeze. He flopped onto his leopard chair and looked at me with a pitiable glare. “I’m sorry, Suga. But, Bermuda. Bermuda! Ber…mu…da!”

“I guess I’ll give you credit for your honesty about lying even though I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. As a matter of fact, I will take a regular latté, since I think I may need a dose of caffeine.”

Before he stood he said, “Your standard at Dunkin Donuts is hazelnut decaf. You don’t drink caffeine, Suga.”

“I do now. Seems as if I’m going to need it on this case. What is so wrong about cruising to Bermu…the triangle. You are worried I may get sucked into some paranormal triangle of ocean?”

Goldie screeched.

“I’m sorry, Gold.” I jumped up and grabbed him in a hug. “I didn’t mean to…Wait a minute. Why am I consoling you? I should be the one being comforted. I’m the one going on this fool assignment.”

He eased free and looked at me. “I’m so sorry. I never should have said anything. I mean, folks sail to Bermuda every day. Planes fly overhead. And, well, bon voyage, Suga!”

“Bon voyage!” my mother shouted as she served me a piece of the ocean blue cake she’d designed for my going-away party. Inside was chocolate with a mousse filling.

All I could think when I heard that third bon voyage was, three strikes and you’re out.

“Thanks, Mother,” I mumbled as she set the dish in front of me. I loved cake. I loved sweets. I drank a very moderate amount of alcohol to avoid calorie overdose so I could have the sweets. Nothing could top chocolate. But right now I had this inner feeling telling me I should eat sweets like there was no tomorrow and drink plenty of liquor-because I was going on a cruise to Bermuda.

Not a worldly traveler, I did have a suggestion-prone kind of mind.

I remember once in grammar school when the nun told me I looked as if I had a rash on my arm. The idea ate away at me until a rash appeared. Of course, ever since she mentioned it, I had scratched at the skin over and over, even though it didn’t itch.