CHAPTER TWO

On the outer deck of the Auras Smile, Susie is packing up a manicure kit, collecting items from a small side table next to Mrs. Fairfield's sun lounger.

"These gnats keep landing on my wet nail polish. I guess I'm supposed to walk around with their little corpses stuck to my fingers."

Garrett, tanning a short distance away on his own sun lounger in just a pair of swim shorts sighs impatiently, drawing out every word for emphasis. "Maura, please. Shut. Up!"

"Excuse me?! she hisses. "You don't have to sit out here in the brine with your hair frizzing into oblivion. I look like a bushman."

He rolls his eyes behind dark lenses. "Just go inside if you don't like the sea air."

"I can't," she snaps. "Because that swamp... thing is still working on my shower. She's sweating all over the place. I doubt she's even housebroken."

"Bet she pees standing up, too," he snorts, making an unsavory gesture towards his groin.

Sitting up suddenly, she presses a finger to her lips and makes a noise that is anything but quiet, "Ssh!"

"What?" he exclaims, rising and wiping down his bare chest with a towel.

Pointing a ruby-tipped finger towards their bedroom window, she whispers accusingly, "She's listening."

He stands, throwing his towel down onto the lounger with force, patience totally depleted. "Who?"

"That plumber," she grinds out, fully aware that Garrett's IQ is considerably less than her own but still taken aback on occasion by his basic stupidity. "She's been hanging on our every word for the last two days."

Huffing, he heads for the cabin door. "It's your project, Maura. Deal with it." He waves a hand at a large uniformed male who still stands sentinel beside his vacated lounger, "Come on, man."

The Captain, resplendent in his bright white uniform exits the cabin just as Garrett reaches to open the door, "The engines are ready, sir."

"Alright, Doyle," he grins, slapping the man on the arm. "Let's get going then."

With a roll of her eyes and a loud huff, Mrs. Fairfield vacates her own sun lounger and follows them inside the cabin.

oOo

Jane has packed up her tools and is wiping down the surfaces with a rag. She's built up quite a sweat and has slipped off the top half of her coveralls, tying the loose arms in a knot around her waist above her toolbelt. Bite your tongue for ten more minutes, collect the money and get the hell outta here. She hurries, cleaning away the last of the dirt and dust as Mrs. Fairfield enters the bedroom. The brunette squeezes her slim body against the door frame as the blonde comes to stand in the opening.

"Well?" she asks, gesturing to her handy work.

Mrs. Fairfield is still staring at the sickeningly sweet fake smile Jane has managed to plaster on her face. "Are we amusing you?"

Jane merely shakes her head as her upturned lips flatline.

The blonde takes a step inside the bathroom and points at the shower head, "What... is this?"

"Uh, well, I'm done, Mrs. Fairfield. All finished. What do you think?" Jane wipes her hands on the rag over and over again. She's never been this nervous showing her work to a customer before, but then she's never met anyone as icy as Mrs. Fairfield before.

Again the woman points, and again the brunette doesn't seem to catch her drift. "What is it?"

"Uh well, it's a power shower with a twist." Jane leans in, careful not to come into contact with the woman, stretching out her hand to explain. "Just turn the water on and press any of these buttons here. Ya got your standard showerhead with additional hand-held nozzle, then ya got your full overhead rainfall depending on your mood, and ya got these... built into the walls too. Gives you three times the jets, not to mention a full body massage function..." She thinks she's outdone herself given the two-day time constraint and the fact that she'd had to dial back her ambitious plans accordingly. Most people would kill for this kind of set up.

The woman's eyes roll back and Jane's eyebrows jump up to her hairline as a result, "Stop boring me with your absurdities. What are these made of?"

Forgetting where she is for a second, Jane over-enunciates as if she's talking to a child. "It's called me-tal. Antique bronze to be precise."

"Bronze fixtures." The blonde's palms slap her upper thighs as she barks a humorless laugh. "Why am I even amazed?"

"I don't know," Jane breathes, slowly and deeply, trying to inhale some self-control. This oughtta be good. Her boys would recognize her single, sharply-arched eyebrow as a dare that only a fool or the extremely brave would accept. "Why are you amazed?" she challenges.

"One would think you would know that luxury yachts require all gold fixtures, not bronze, even in their bathrooms."

With a hand rubbing at the back of her neck underneath a long ponytail, Jane turns her head away and mutters into the wall, "Oh man, I'm gon' kick her ass."

When she looks back around Mrs. Fairfield's piercing, accusing glare leaves her red hot.

The woman's voice is low and dangerous. "What did you say?"

Unable to maintain eye contact for very long, Jane's attention wanders to her toolbelt. "I said I could do them in brass," she states, as if this is all perfectly normal. Unfastening the buckle and sliding the apparatus from her hips, she wants to sit down and rest instead of standing here bickering with this infernal woman. "Look, I don't understand what the problem is, but that's fine. I'll just start all over. I have to tell ya that's gonna more than double my price."

"What do you mean?"

Jane frowns, not sure which part of what she just said would be hard to understand. "I mean... I've already done this once, so..."

It's like pouring gasoline on an evil, blonde spark and the rich bitch explodes. "I'm not paying for your mistake!"

That is pretty much it for Jane. She knows she has a reputation for taking risks, but she is damn good at her job, and never puts up with someone telling her she is wrong when she knows different. "I'm not just gonna eat it on this deal," she argues.

The woman tears past her, crossing the bedroom and flinging the door open before turning to look back at the brunette with a sneer. "Why not?! You've eaten everything else here." That earns her a small gasp and almost causes her to break out into a smile. "And you will eat it… because I wanted gold!"

"Missus!" Jane stomps her foot, her every muscle fiber tense and rigid as the woman slinks away. She raises her voice to make herself heard before snatching up her tools and deciding to give chase. "You may have wanted gold, but you didn't ask for it."

"The entire civilized world knows high end bathrooms should have gold fixtures!" the woman sasses.

It is kind of surprising to Jane that with such a huge chip on her shoulder the blonde is actually able to throw that much condescension at her over it. Her work boots continue to thump through the cabin, "In Swampscott, we don't know anything about that. Shit, woman! You're lucky I am housebroken!"

It's Mrs. Fairfield's turn to gasp and she stops dead, pivoting fully to face Jane in an instant, "You were listening."

A careless shrug is all Jane can manage. She's not even sorry for spying at this point; her guilt has evaporated thanks to her lightly simmering rage. "Well, it was kinda hard to avoid."

"You can avoid it now - you're fired!" The blonde turns away and stalks out of the cabin door at the opposite end of the boat from where their argument started.

"You're unbelievable!" Jane slams the cabin door behind her, pulling the handle with considerable strength. She imagines it coming off in her hand and knows she wouldn't really care if it did. "That's fine with me!" she spits, wanting to be away from this floating hellhole as soon as possible. "Just pay me the money you owe me."

Still tottering onward, the blonde is defiant, "The job was not done to my satisfaction!"

"I got news for you, lady! No job will ever be done to your satisfaction!" Jane is still following, she's not sure why, and they seem to be going back around the outer deck to where they started which doesn't make any sense but she can't stop herself.

"That's quite enough!" Mrs. Fairfield yells, pointing violently toward the dock. "Get out!"

"No problem!" Jane chuckles as she drops her toolbelt and toolbox at her feet. She decides she'll stand here for as long as it takes for the woman to get sick of her and pay up. She rocks back on her heels, rests her butt against the deck rail and folds her arms across her chest. This woman might be a royal pain in the ass but no one does stubborn like a Rizzoli. Her smirk is positively obnoxious. "Pay me the money you owe me and I'm gone!"

The brunette winces when Mrs. Fairfield shrieks without warning. "Captain Doyle! Start up the engine!"

She's known her less than forty-eight hours in total but Jane decides this woman needs a few home truths. "You know what your problem is? Huh? You're so goddamn bored you gotta invent things to bitch about. You haven't got a single thing to do except for your hair and nails. The bathroom was fine! You just needed somethin' to take up your useless, empty, rich-bitch, sun-tanning days because truthfully… you're dead inside!"

Mrs. Fairfield doesn't respond, but she does try to walk away until Jane's hand inadvertently brushes her elbow. "Do not touch me!" she bites, snatching her arm away and using it to cover her chest.

Jane's jaw drops, genuinely taken aback. "What?! You wish, lady! I ain't that desperate that I'm gonna feel up the Queen of the Dead. And I'm not goin' anywhere..."

But Mrs. Fairfield has other ideas.

Jane yelps in surprise as the irritated blonde shoves her suddenly, forcing her backwards over the rail. She plummets into the dark water, landing with an almighty splash.

The yacht is already starting to move away by the time Jane resurfaces, breathing hard and shivering. "Damn you!" she sputters. The sound of the blonde's cackling laughter turns her blood to ice faster than the Atlantic waters she's currently swimming in.

The loudspeaker mounted outside the bridge crackles to life, "Man overboard!"

"I'll get you for this!" Jane threatens as she watches Mrs. Fairfield saunter along the deck, teasing a hand along the rail before bending down to pick something up. "No! Not my tool belt!" she cries, but it's too late. It is already hitting the water as Mrs. Fairfield grins down at her, positively gleeful. "You owe me money!" she yells again, forcing the words through chattering teeth.

The captain has exited the bridge and is hurriedly approaching Mrs. Fairfield on deck. She waves him away, dismissing any concerns for the woman currently treading water in the harbor. She gestures in their direction of travel and orders, "Keep going!"

He nods, making no attempt to argue with her, "As you wish."

Jane's angry cries float up from the ocean's surface, "If I ever get you, lady, you're dead meat! You hear me?!" It isn't until she sees Mrs. Fairfield and her bountiful smile once more that she stops the splashing of her flailing arms. Instead she lifts them, palms to the sky in total surrender. "No, don't throw that!"

Mercilessly, Mrs. Fairfield drops her toolbox without conscience or hesitation, sending the last of Jane's livelihood into the murky depths of the bay. She leans over the rail once more and leaves her parting shot, "I'm not bored! I'm very happy! Everyone wants to be me!"

Jane furiously slaps the surface of the water, "You come back here!" But Mrs. Fairfield has already disappeared from view. There is nothing the chilled plumber can do but swim back to the dock as the boat cruises away, muttering curse words and promises of revenge under her breath the whole way.