Playing for Keeps by Joan Lowery Nixon Page B

me to my feet with such ease I was surprised at his strength. I had to admit I was having a good time.
    Later, Glory somehow maneuvered to sit with Julieta both at the café where our group had lunch and on the bus during the rest of the sightseeing tour. I smiled as I thought,
Julieta one, Glory two.
    On the last part of the tour, as the bus headed back to Ocho Rios, Neil leaned across me to point to the top of a vine that had spread across a wall like splashed paint, its scarlet blossoms glowing in the deep afternoon sunlight. “Look!” he said with awe in his voice. “Hovering over the vine. There’s a
Papilio homerus,
the large swallowtail butterfly. They’re found nowhere in the world but Jamaica.”
    “Oh,” I answered absentmindedly. We’d soon be back at the dock. Ricky had been confined alone in his stateroom all day . . . unless his uncle’s trip to the airport had been a short one. It wasn’t fair to treat Ricky as a prisoner.
    “Their wingspan can grow to a width of thirty feet, and they’re often used to carry heavy packages.”
    “Um,” I said. But Ricky could have the run of the ship after it sailed at six that evening. That was what the captain had promised. Surely he’d keep his promise.
    “They’re easily trainable and can quickly pick up a vocabulary of forty to fifty words—in French, of course.”
    I blinked and sat up straight as I suddenly realized what Neil had just said. “Wh-what?” I stammered.
    “Don’t worry about Ricky,” Neil said. “He’s perfectly safe on the ship.”
    I felt myself blushing again. Was I that obvious? “I’m sorry I wasn’t listening,” I said, fumbling for the right words to say. “I was thinking about what a good time we all had today while Ricky was stuck in his stateroom. I guess I felt a little guilty.”
    Neil smiled, relaxing against the back of the seat. “That was it? I thought maybe you were wishing he was here with you instead of me.”
    My face grew even warmer. “Don’t try to be a mind reader, Neil. You’re not very good at it. Tell me more about the so-called giant butterflies instead.”
    “They really are giants among butterflies,” Neil said. “Fourteen-centimeter wingspan. Can you believe it?”
    “If you say so,” I answered. Instead of trying to convert centimeters to inches, I said, “Ricky will be under guard again while we’re in Cozumel, and he’s sure to be watched when we reach Miami. How is he going to get away from his guards and onto United States soil?”
    Neil thought a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “But if you can come up with a plan, count on me to help.”
    “Thanks,” I said. Once again I realized that Neil was really a very nice guy.
    The tour bus’s last stop before we reached the ship was at a small shopping area on a narrow, tourist-clogged street cluttered on both sides with small souvenir, cigar, and jewelry stores. While a few of the people on the bus headed for shops selling duty-free gold and diamond jewelry, most entered the souvenir shops, returning laden with seed necklaces, straw hats, small wood carvings, and bags of Blue Mountain coffee.
    It took little more than five minutes for our bus to return to the parking lot near the dock. Tired and sticky from the humidity, I trudged after Glory across the hot asphalt, with Neil at my side and Julieta bringing up the rear.
    A fishing boat, pungent with the smell of fish, was tied to the side of the dock near us. Clustered on the dock above the boat, staring down into the hold, were a number of bystanders.
    “Must have a big catch,” Glory said. “What would they fish for here? Snapper?”
    “Could be shark or barracuda, to draw that much interest,” Neil answered.
    “Let’s go and see,” Julieta said. She snatched at Neil’s hand and took a step forward.
    “Why? It’s hot, and I’m sticky. Besides, I’m not that interested in fish,” he told her.
    “If it’s a big shark, I want to see it,” Julieta said. She