Fleur De Lies(115)

            The man raised his voice in disgust. “What kind of sick person says something like that to a friend? What kind of friend are you anyway?”

            I regarded Margi sternly. “Promise me that this ends your love affair with texting while you walk.”

            “Might as well.” She grappled for the packet of tissues. “The trunk sale’s over.”

            _____

            I never got to speak to Rob.

            By the time the paramedics had finished checking out Margi, it was time to meet up with the rest of the group in front of the museum. Her nose had stopped bleeding on its own, and she didn’t display any signs of being concussed, but the medics had nonetheless cautioned us to keep an eye on her in case she started showing any unusual behavior.

            I wondered if packing cervical collars for a European holiday counted as unusual behavior.

            The gang was very solicitous of her on the bus ride back to the boat. George offered to give up his cervical collar if she wanted to catch a quick nap on the way back. Dick Teig lent her his iPhone so she could text a quick message to me, thanking me for my help. And Alice treated the blood on her linen top with several different fragrances of hand sanitizer that not only eliminated the stains, but filled the bus with the mouth-watering scents of hot apple pie, chocolate fudge brownie, and Christmas cookie.

            By the time we returned to Vernon, we were so ravenously hungry, we decided not to wait for the lunch buffet to open, but ventured into town instead to search out a bakery, where we indulged in chocolate croissants, éclairs, macaroons, Napoleons, madeleines, fruit tarts, and an assortment of cream-filled confections. We slogged back to the boat, overstuffed but infinitely happy, and just in time for the gang to resume their scheduled activities.

            “Bridge tour in ten minutes,” announced Nana as we crossed the gangway. “Galley tour after that. Watercolor lessons in the lounge in an hour. Today we’re s’posed to tackle them still-life paintin’s.”

            “I love still-life painters,” remarked Tilly. “Cezanne, Jean-Simeon Chardin, Giorgio Morandi. They transformed the ordinary into the extraordinary. I consider myself quite fortunate to have a Cezanne print hanging over my mantel.”

            “Pfffft,” scoffed Dick Teig. “I’ve got a plasma screen TV hanging over mine.”

            While the twelve of them piled through the automatic door to access the exterior stairs to the top deck, I stopped at the reception desk to talk to the purser.

            “Would you happen to know where Rob is?”

            “I’m afraid I don’t, Mrs. Miceli, but there are one or two places he might be.” She lifted her hand to direct me aft. “On the top deck, in the sectioned-off area at the stern. That’s where we gather when we’re on break. Or the dining room. Perhaps he’s finishing lunch? Or, since this is Vernon, he might have walked into town for pastries. There are several brilliant bakeries just off the main street.”

            I checked the dining room first, finding it deserted save for a few stragglers at a couple of tables, none of whom were Rob. I ran into Ivandro on the way out.

            “You know who Rob is, don’t you?”

            “Oui, madame.”

            “Did you see him at lunch today?”

            “He was not in my section, but that does not mean he wasn’t in someone else’s. Although since this is Vernon, he may have escaped into town for pastry. I’m being told the bakeries here are tres magnifique.”

            I stopped by my cabin to drop off my shoulder bag before hitting the top deck to check out which crew members were taking a break in the Staff Only section.