Dressed to Keel [Paperback]

"Calvert's debut folds mystery and romance into a valentine to the cruising experience."

"I really loved it! . . . a wild and mysterious cruise . . . twists and turns . . . a bit of romance . . ." --Lori Avocato, author of the Pauline Sokol mysteries

"Get ready to set sail on a sea of laughs. Candy Calvert has an eye for the outrageous and a voice that bubbles with laughter" --Eileen Rendahl, author of Do Me, Do My Roots

"Wow! This is the cruise you don't want to miss. Twisted, wicked and outrageously funny, it's a great read for a lazy summer afternoon. With a story like this, Candy Calvert is the perfect cruise director!" --Dianne Drake, author of Playing Games

Candy Calvert (Texas) is a registered nurse who blames her quirky sense of humor on "survival tactics learned in the trenches of the ER." Her first Darcy Cavanaugh mystery, Dressed to Keel, wowed reviewers and had fans pleading for more. Candy lives in Texas Hill Country with her husband who is her favorite cruise hottie. She is currently at work on the next Darcy Cavanaugh shipboard mystery.

one The cruise brochure promised confetti, melting wedges of Brie, well-stuffed tuxedoes, and silver buckets of Dom Pérignon. Glamorous, right? You bet. The Fall Foliage Tour would be a quiet time to mull things over and re-think my muddled life while sailing from New York to Canada and back. Boston, Bar Harbor, Halifax, and Quebec City, it all sounded wonderful. But the fact was that right then, right that minute, I was basically fighting to stay upright on a treadmill surrounded by miles of ominous ocean. More than weird. Like planting my pink Nikes on some sweaty, revolving techno island. And damned dangerous, too. Champagne was the last thing on my mind. Jeez-was that a whale?

I let go of one handgrip to push a sopping strand of my reddish hair back toward a ponytail that was starting to frizz like a Chia Pet. My fingers trembled as I glanced toward the huge window again. I was used to dodging doggy doo and spiky-haired skateboarders when I jogged-no biggie-but a rubber-lipped, blowhole-topped, Pinocchio-eating whale? Unbelievable. God's truth, I should've fallen flat on my face and been catapulted across the ship's gym when the thing surfaced near the window in front of me. But I kept running, with the relentless rhythm of my nurse's clogs across the ER floors back home. I was sweating and puffing and getting absolutely nowhere.Nowhere-career and treadmill both.And if that wasn't enough, now there was a teeny woman in a zebra-print leotard calling my name and peppering me with questions. That bingo champion, Edie Greenbaum, was about my grandma's age, I'd guess. I'd been trying to avoid her since before Monstro surfaced, but it wasn't working. Her zebra stripes shimmered in my peripheral vision like I was wearing 3-D glasses. I was getting queasy.Maybe if I pretended that I was engrossed in the TV, she'd go away.

"Miss Cavanaugh . . . Darcy? Yoo hoo?"

No. I'd been trying to be polite but there was a limit. This cruise was supposed to be about hanging out with my best friend, eating great food . . . okay, and maybe making an ass of myself doing that chicken dance in the Lobster Disco last night. I should never, under any circumstances, drink rum. But I was still entitled to some shred of dignity, right?

"Well, dear?" Edie squinted at me through rhinestone-trimmed bifocals and smiled, tipping her pinkish blonde head backward in order to see my face.At five-eight I would tower over her by at least a foot, even if I were standing on the floor beside her. There was a lipstick speckle on her front tooth. Or maybe some of that incredible cherry tart from the lunch buffet.

"Mmm." I ran my tongue over my teeth, smiled, and then glanced back up at the TV like I hadn't really heard her. The ship's channel was running the infomercial about protecting your valuables, a throaty Elizabeth Taylor impersonator loading jewels into a cabin safe. "Ladies, give him the key to your heart, but never ever the combination to your safe." It was the third time they'd run it since I arrived in the gym. A bit much. But still, there had been all that buzz about some shipboard purse snatchings, and I'd bet that was what Edie wanted to gossip about.

I raised my fingers to my neck and counted my heartbeat for six seconds, multiplied by ten, and compared it to the treadmill's digital display. One hundred sixty? Could that be true?

"Excuse me, Darcy, but I was asking what brings a pretty young lady like you onto a cruise ship full of old folks?"

"What? Oh, pardon me-whoops." I grabbed for the handgrips as the ship rolled and dropped beneath me like a watery earthquake.

My gaze darted to the expanse of Plexiglas and the dark ocean beyond. A whale couldn't tip a ship over, could it?

Edie Greenbaum patted her cotton candy hair and grinned up at me; wiry little legs splaying wide as she hunkered down and swayed with the wave motion like a salty merchant marine. Her perfectly lined eyes twinkled behind her glasses and she batted blue-tipped lashes.

"First cruise? You'll get used to it, sweetie. Same with that awful roar of the cabin toilets.Won't really suck your tushie in. Relax. It takes time," she patted her zebra-striped thighs, "to develop your sea legs."

I tried to smile. "Of course. No problem. I'm sorry, but did you . . . ask me . . . something, before?"My words came out in short puffs even though I'd slowed my jog to half-pace. I was barely thirty years old and, except for some therapeutic macaroni and cheese binges, I was far too fit to be winded like this. What was wrong?

The woman cackled and tapped a jewel-studded fingernail against my hipbone."My husband, Bernie-you know, he works in the show? Well, we have a bet going with a few of the other passengers about why a lovely young thing like you would be traveling with a crowd of Florida retirees." She clucked and tugged at my waistband. "I mean, look at you, dear. What is that little waist of yours, all of twenty-five inches?" Her gaze climbed, eyes squinting like she was checking the odds on a racetrack tote board, until her eyes fixed on my neon-striped Lycra tank. She