Read Birds of Prey : Previously Copub Sequel to the Hour of the Hunter (9780061739101) for Free Online

travel agent wizardry I had lucked into a junior suite at the last minute. It was a nice room with a marble-surrounded Jacuzzi tub and a separate shower in the bath. As rooms go, it was more than large enough to accommodate two people, but I sure as hell didn’t want to spend the next six days sharing it and my king-sized bed with a disgruntled bridegroom who probably snored like an eighteen-wheeler going up a steep grade.
    Thinking about a solution, I stalled for time by taking a tentative sip of my coffee and scalding the top layer of skin on my upper lip in the process. Meanwhile Lars downed the contents of his cup as though the temperature of his drink were less than lukewarm. Watching him, the term “asbestos lips” came to mind.
    â€œI’m sure Beverly will get over it,” I offered.
    â€œNope,” he insisted. “I don’t think so.”
    For several moments we sat in stark silence drinking from our respective cups. “So how was dinner?” I asked.
    â€œDinner?” Lars growled. “Too darned much food. Do you have any idea how much food goes to waste on a ship like this? It’s downright criminal.”
    I waited for him to tell me about the starving children in China. He didn’t.
    â€œAnd all that foreign food on the menu. What’s the matter with good old American food? Whatever happened to pot roast? Whatever happened to chicken pot pie? And why on earth would anyone want to eat snails?”
    In other words, the escargots hadn’t been a big hit.
    â€œHow about the people at your table?” I asked. “What are they like?”
    Out of deference to the newlywed couple’s privacy, we had agreed in advance that Lars and Beverly would eat during the first seating, and I would take the second.
    â€œThey hooked us up with a couple of kids,” he grumbled. “Max and Dotty. They’re here celebrating their fortieth,” he added. “As if sticking together for forty years is anything to brag about.”
    â€œLook,” I said. “I’ll go shower. You hang tough. Once I’m dressed, we’ll take a turn around the deck. Things’ll probably look better in the clear light of day.”
    â€œIt’s raining,” Lars said. “It’s September. What do you expect?”
    I reached over and pulled aside the blackout curtains. Sure enough, outside nothing was visible but a second curtain, this one made up of sheets of falling rain.
    Grabbing some clothes from the closet, I disappeared into the bathroom. I came out twenty minutes later—shaved and dressed—to find Lars sound asleep. Snoring softly, he was sitting bolt upright with his now-empty coffee cup clutched in one massive fist. I figured that if he could sleep that soundly having just downed a cup of full-strength coffee, he must have needed the rest. So, recalling that sage advice about letting sleeping dogs lie, I slipped out the door and left him there. After hanging the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the doorknob, I went in search of Beverly Piedmont Jenssen.
    The Starfire Breeze is no small potatoes. According to company brochures, it carries two thousand passengers and a crew of a thousand. Using my well-worn detective skills, I went first to my grandmother’s last-known address—her stateroom on Bahia Deck. The door to her room was ajar, and an attendant was busily making up the bed. “Breakfast,” he told me when I inquired. “Mrs. Jenssen went to breakfast.”
    The ship is fourteen stories tall. It boasts two formal dining rooms—the Crystal and the Regal—as well as a twenty-four-hour buffet up on the Lido Deck. Knowing my grandmother, I tried the buffet first—to no avail. After that, I tried the dining rooms. To the dismay of a full contingent of concerned wait staff, I waved aside all offers of help and went wandering through the white-tableclothed wilderness of the Crystal Dining Room. In a windowed alcove