Playing for Keeps by Joan Lowery Nixon

of the tour.”
    “But they’re just for young . . . um . . . well, people my age, not for . . . um . . . grandmothers.”
    “You think I’m too old to climb the rocks? Just watch me,” Glory said. She left me near the end of the counter and walked to the security desk.
    Nearby, at the door to the chief purser’s office I heard someone say, “There’s no sign of him, sir.”
    Startled—was he talking about Ricky?—I turned to see one of the uniformed crew speaking to the purser.
    “Did you check his assigned cabin?” the purser asked.
    “Yes, sir.” The seaman gave a lower deck number. “And I asked the men who share the cabins next to his. No one heard him leave this morning, and his few things are still there.” He paused and added, “I even checked with the guard assigned to stateroom seventy-two-seventy-nine. He said no one had tried to make contact with Mr. Urbino except the girl in the stateroom across the passageway.”
    My face grew hot with embarrassment, but at the same time I felt a welcome rush of relief. It wasn’t Ricky they’d been talking about. I listened even more intently.
    “The captain ordered him to leave the ship as soon as possible after we docked,” the purser said. “Did you check the departure area on deck one?”
    “I’ve been in phone contact. He hasn’t been seen there.”
    They had to be talking about Major Cepeda, I decided. On a ship this large I could see why someone might be hard to find. If the major had left his belongings in his cabin, he was probably in one of the dining rooms or cafés eating breakfast. Had they thought of checking there? I hoped they’d find him soon. I didn’t trust him. I’d be glad when Major Carlos Cepeda left the ship.
    Glory appeared, smiling broadly. “This is going to be a great day,” she said. “The weather’s perfect, Rosie. Come on. I’m starved for something magnificent and full of calories, like a cheese omelette and hash browns. Let’s eat!”
    An hour later, Glory and I crossed the asphalt parking lot, heading for our tour bus. I glanced to each side of the lot, looking for Neil, but there was no sign of him. Glory had said he’d be with our excursion group. So where was he?
    Not watching where I was going, I had to jump aside as someone hurried past. “Hey!” I started to say, but stopped in surprise as I saw it was Mr. Urbino.
    He didn’t speak, and I was sure he hadn’t even seen me. He seemed too intent on where he was going. As I followed Glory to the tour bus, I kept watching Mr. Urbino. Dressed in a casual gray shirt, slacks, and jacket, he passed the rows of buses, going directly to a taxi dispatcher. It took only a moment before he was in a cab and the driver was swinging in a wide turn to head up the road into town.
    To my surprise, I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had been watching Mr. Urbino. Stepping from the shade under the overhang of the port building, Anthony Bailey looked after the cab for a second, then turned and walked back into the building.
    That’s strange,
I thought. It seemed almost as though Mr. Bailey had expected Mr. Urbino to come this way and had been watching for him.
    “Here’s our bus,” Glory said. “Give me a hand on that first step. It’s a high one.”
    “I’ll be right back, Glory,” I said quickly. “I have to ask someone a question.”
    Without waiting for an answer, I ran to the taxi dispatcher, who saw me coming and waved to the next cab in line.
    “No thanks. I’m not taking a cab,” I said. “I want to ask you about that man who just got into a taxi a moment ago—where was he going?”
    The dispatcher looked surprised. “Airport,” he said. “You want taxi to airport?”
    “No thanks,” I said again. I backed away, suddenly embarrassed by having given in to my curiosity. “I—I’m traveling by ship.”
    And so are you, Mr. Urbino,
I thought.
What
business do you have at the airport?
I ran back to join Glory, who was waiting for me next to the