Title Wave (20 page)

“Oh, yeah?” Carmen asked. “I wasn't going to go to it, but maybe now I will.”

“What's she likely to reveal? Why print runs are such a secret?” Hannah asked with a laugh.

“Or why authors aren't consulted when it comes to book covers?” Steven asked.

“I have a wonderful editor,” Norma said. “I wouldn't trade her for a bag of gold.”

“How about two bags?” Hannah asked.

A smile crept onto Norma's lips. “Well, maybe.”

Victoria stood. “I'll see you all tomorrow. Good night.”

Most of the rest of the women at the table drained their drinks and joined her, voicing their good-byes, but Steven still had half a pint left in his glass and moved down the table, taking the chair across from Tricia, who still had most of her martini—as well as Angelica's—before her. He watched as she polished off the last of her fish, and smiled. “I love to see a woman who enjoys a good meal.”

Tricia wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Oh?”

“My ex-wife was a slave to counting calories and excessive exercise. I'm happy to see you aren't stuck in that mentality.”

Oh, if he only knew.

“I love your Toby Amsterdam series,” Tricia began, making small talk, “but I do wish you'd write another Oscar Moore story.”

Steven shrugged. “Yeah, well, they didn't sell quite as well. I have to write what pays the bills—and my alimony.”

Tricia nodded in understanding. She could have gone after Christopher for alimony, but he'd been more than generous with their divorce settlement, no doubt because of guilt for leaving her. And when he'd died, he'd left all his assets to her, but financial security was no substitute for his friendship. At least when he'd left this earth, they'd still been friends, which apparently was more than Steven could claim.

“Maybe I'll write another book for Oscar one day,” Steven continued, “but my fans demand that I write what they like best—not what I'd prefer to work on.”

“You don't like the Amsterdam books?”

“Not at all. But there's only so much time in the day, week, month, and year.”

“I get that,” Tricia said, and picked up her glass to take yet another small sip. “I understand you live in Massachusetts. I just so happen
to own a mystery bookstore in southern New Hampshire. Would you consider coming by to do a book signing sometime?”

“Only if I could have dinner with you, too.”

“Well, that's a given,” Tricia said glibly. Maybe she'd had too much to drink, too. She cleared her throat. “But you wouldn't want to come until at least April—maybe even June or July—when the tourists return. That's when I could best expect to round up an enthusiastic audience for your talk or reading.”

“Why don't we e-mail—or better yet talk about it sometime in the future?”

Tricia squinted at the handsome man who sat across the table from her. “Do you flirt with every woman you meet?”

“Not every woman. But I've known most of the other authors who sat at this table for quite a while. The fact that they welcomed you as a friend must mean they respect, or at least like you.”

Tricia really knew only Fiona, but she had met and hosted several of the other authors at her store during the past five years, too. “Thank you,” she said, gracefully accepting the compliment.

“And I'm assuming that since you own a mystery bookstore—and have the good taste to read my work—that you're someone I could talk to on practically any subject.”

“I like to think I'm well informed on most subjects.”

Good grief
, Tricia realized, she was flirting right back. She picked up her glass once more, sipping the last of her drink, then set it down again. “I've enjoyed our conversation, but I really should go check on my sister. We're traveling together.”

“Do you two make a habit of it?”

“This is actually the first vacation we've been on together since we were children. My sister not only owns a cookbook store, but she's a cookbook author as well.”

“And do you have any literary aspirations?”

Tricia shook her head. Her specialty working at the nonprofit organization had been writing grant applications—and she'd been good at it, too. Should she consider attempting to write a mystery? With all she had on her plate? The answer was: not anytime soon.

Tricia folded her napkin and stood. “I really must go check on my sister.”

Richardson rose, too. “May I walk you to your stateroom?”

Hadn't he heard her mention she might have a stalker? Could Steven Richardson be that stalker? But he'd only met her half an hour before. The corridors were likely to be empty. Then again, video surveillance would follow them every step of the way. Still, ship's security wasn't keen on looking for EM's killer—would they do any more to protect or prosecute an attacker or rapist? And Richardson wrote about serial killers. Surely he knew just about every way to kill a victim.

Tricia swallowed and forced a smile. “That's very nice of you, but you haven't finished your drink. I'm sure I'll make it just fine to my stateroom.”

“As you wish. But let me give you my business card so that at some point we can set up that book signing.” He reached into his back pants pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting a card and handing it to her.

“Thank you.”

“Maybe we could have a drink tomorrow sometime.”

“That would be very nice. It's not a big ship. I'm sure we'll bump into each other at least once before we dock.”

Richardson smiled. “Then, until we meet again.”

“Good night.”

Tricia turned to leave, but before she had walked too far down the corridor, she looked back to see if Richardson was following her. He hadn't. Instead, he'd wandered over to watch the darts tournament.

She continued to the stairs. Steven Richardson seemed like a nice
enough guy. Knowing he hadn't followed her made her actually look forward to that promised drink.

*   *   *

Tricia pulled
out the keycard from her slacks pocket and inserted it into the suite's lock, then opened the door. She immediately heard a low groan and found Antonio seated on what she thought of as her couch, while Angelica had her feet propped up, leaning back against her own loveseat, pressing an ice bag to her forehead.

“I think I'm dying,” Angelica wailed, her lower lip quivering. “I haven't been drunk for at least ten—maybe fifteen—years and I
do not like it!
”

Tricia turned her gaze to Antonio. “Poor Angelica has been sick, but perhaps now she will feel better,” he said hopefully.

“I puked my guts up. I will
never
recover!” Angelica wailed.

“Oh, yes, you will,” Tricia said kindly, and moved to stand beside her sister, clasping her hand. “I can take over from here,” she told Antonio. “Go be with your family.”

“Ah, but Angelica is also my family,” he asserted.

“No, no,” Angelica insisted. “I'm fine now.”

“But you just said you were dying,” Antonio reminded her.

“It only feels that way. I'm sure by tomorrow I'll be much better. Please, go back to Ginny and Sofia.”

Antonio sighed and stood, then crossed the three feet between the love seats. “Okay. But only because you insist, and dear Tricia is now here.”

“I promise, this will never happen again,” Angelica vowed.

Antonio bent down to kiss his stepmother on the forehead. “See that it doesn't,” he said, but without rancor. He turned to Tricia. “Feel free to call if you need my help.”

“I'm sure I can handle the situation.”

Antonio nodded, then stepped forward to give Tricia a peck on the cheek. A rush of affection for him filled her, something she hadn't felt during her visit with her parents earlier in the day. Antonio would never know how lucky he was. Then again, maybe he did.

Tricia followed him to the door. “We'll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Antonio said, and Tricia closed the door behind him. She turned to her sister. “Will you be okay?”

“Eventually,” Angelica said, and sank farther into the loveseat. “Thank goodness for Sebastian, who supplied the ice pack, otherwise I'm sure I would have died.” She rested the back of her right hand dramatically against her furrowed brow.

Talk about a diva!

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?” Tricia asked.

“No,” Angelica said piteously. “Just stay here and keep me company for a little while, will you?”

Tricia sat down on her love seat, which was still warm from Antonio's body heat. “I will.”

“I'm so embarrassed,” Angelica whimpered. “What will all those mystery authors think of me?”

“It doesn't matter. I know what
I
think of you. That you're a very strong woman who had a terrible day.”

“Oh, no! It was
you
who had the terrible day, and it's all my fault.”

“Not really,” Tricia said. “You've spent far too many years running interference between Mother and me. You don't have to do that anymore. I'm fine, and that's also because of you.”

“Things will work out,” Angelica said.

Yes. They usually did.

“Did I miss anything by leaving the party early?”

“Well, that hunky author Steven Richardson hit on me.”

Angelica opened one eye. “He did?”

Tricia nodded.

“And?”

“He wants to have a drink with me before the end of the cruise.”

“You said yes, I hope.”

Tricia shrugged. “I left it open. If we run into each other—I'll go.”

“Good.”

“Why good?”

“Because you need a man in your life.”

“Oh, don't start that.”

“You took off Christopher's ring, so you're obviously ready.”

“To have a long-distance relationship with an author I just met not an hour ago? I don't think so.”

“If nothing else, having a drink and a nice conversation with an attractive man will help you break back into the relationship game.”

“You make it sound like a date on training wheels.”

“Exactly,” Angelica said with a little too much enthusiasm, and winced at the timbre of her voice.

“I don't know why you're so worried about my social life, when you've had none for almost two years.”

“I'm extremely socially active,” Angelica countered.

“Maybe in your capacity as head of the Chamber of Commerce. You, personally? Not so much.”

“Our Sunday dinners with family are social.”

“But you're not likely to meet anybody new that way.”

“Stoneham isn't exactly a hotbed of eligible men,” Angelica conceded, and readjusted the ice bag on her brow.

“Frannie suggested I try online dating.”

“Yes, she mentions it to me on a daily basis, too.”

“She seems happy,” Tricia commented. “But I've got too much on my plate right now.”

Angelica sighed. “Me, too. I just hope that when we find the time
to date, we won't be too over the hill to enjoy it.” She looked at Tricia. “I think I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“I asked you not to talk about EM's murder anymore, and then I went and opened my big mouth in front of all those authors.”

“That was the martini talking,” Tricia said kindly.

“One martini too many, I think.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. I think they enjoyed discussing it.”

“I'm glad I didn't mention your part in trying to solve it. What would they think about that?”

Tricia grimaced. “That I'm a pathetic wannabe sleuth trying to live the life of one of their characters. Wouldn't that get a few laughs?”

“What you've done in the past is dangerous, and I'd be happy if you'd just find a nice, safe hobby.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . renovating your home.”

“I could drop a hammer on my toe and break it,” Tricia said.

“Now you're just being silly.”

“And I think
you
need to go to bed and sleep off your liquid dinner.”

“You're right about that.” Angelica carefully sat up, swinging her legs off the loveseat. “The thing is, I'm not sure I can walk all that way under my own power.”

“Then I will help you,” Tricia said, and got up from her seat. She crossed the space between them and grasped her sister's arm, helping her to stand. Angelica swayed for a moment or two before she found her sea legs. “Please never let me drink so much ever again.”

“I'll put that on my perpetual list of things to do,” Tricia promised with a wry grin. She helped Angelica to the bedroom, got her ready for bed, and pulled the covers up to her neck and kissed her on the forehead. “Now, go to sleep and have sweet dreams.”

“Thank you, Trish. You, too,” Angelica said with heavy eyelids, and immediately fell asleep.

Tricia switched off the bedside lamp and pulled the door until it was ajar, then retreated to the lounge. Should she watch TV? No, that didn't appeal to her. She left a lamp alight in the lounge in case Angelica needed to get up in the night, and retreated to her own room. It wasn't all that late, and she had a novel to finish, but before she settled down in the comfortable upholstered chair with a good book, she sampled a couple of the chocolates in the box sent by her secret admirer/stalker and found them to be superb.

Oh, what had she missed during the past forty years?

And then she plucked yet another chocolate delight from the box and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Considering everything
that had happened the day before—with all its unpleasant implications—Tricia had no trouble falling asleep, and slept like the proverbial log. In fact, she overslept, since she'd forgotten to set her alarm.

The ship seemed to be fighting a heavy sea—not enough to make her feel queasy, just enough to make her aware that they were traveling the Atlantic Ocean in January. She was sure Fiona would be wearing the compression bands on her wrists today. Raindrops beaded the windows and Tricia decided she would skip her power walk around the deck that day. In fact, she decided to skip exercise altogether, and showered and changed before she entered the suite's lounge, where she found Angelica sitting in front of the television. She turned down the sound.

“There you are, sleepyhead. I was beginning to think I should put
my compact's mirror under your nose to check to see if you were still breathing.”

“I did sleep like the dead,” Tricia admitted, and stopped before that morning's breakfast cart. She found a carton of vanilla yogurt and nothing else but crumb-littered plates. Frowning, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down on what she thought of as her loveseat.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“I have just a wee bit of a headache. I was wondering if I ought to indulge in the hair of the dog.”

“You asked me not to let you drink too much ever again,” Tricia reminded her.

“Yes, I guess I did. Coffee will have to do.” Angelica turned off the set. “You missed Millicent's interview.”

“Not the one she did with EM.”

“No, but boy did she hype the fact they're going to show it again on Friday. You'd think she'd snagged an audience with the Queen or something.”

Tricia sipped her coffee and changed the subject. “The weather looks dreadful.”

“We've had the best of it,” Angelica agreed. “According to Millicent's weather report, we'll be stuck inside for the rest of the voyage.”

“There's plenty to do—or nothing, if we're so inclined. Maybe I should do just that: rest up. Once we get back home, I've got a ton of work to do and lots of plans to make.”

A smile tugged at Angelica's lips. “You almost sound happy. I haven't heard that tone in your voice for a long time.”

“This trip has had more downs than ups,” Tricia admitted, “but I also feel like a great weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

Angelica frowned. “Mother?”

Tricia sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Yes, but I've also been thinking
a lot about Christopher. Getting away from the daily grind—if only for a few days—was good for me. I think I'll try to make that a priority in the future—at least for a couple of days every month—even if I just sit in my apartment and decompress with a good book.”

“You deserve it. We both do.”

Tricia gave her sister a skeptical glance. “So says the workaholic.”

“We've both got good people working for us—people we trust. It would be fun for the two of us to get away now and then.”

Tricia hadn't meant to include Angelica in her downtime plans, but now wasn't the time to mention it. She drained her cup and stood. “I think I'll go in search of sustenance.”

“There's yogurt on the cart,” Angelica said.

Tricia wrinkled her nose. “I was thinking of something a little more substantial. Maybe I'll mosey up to the Kells Grill. I've only had dinner there. I wonder what they serve for breakfast.”

“Want me to come with you?” Angelica offered. “After all, there
is
a murderer running around the ship.” She was still dressed in a nightgown, robe, and slippers. By the time she showered and changed, they'd be serving lunch.

“Hopefully whoever killed EM is preoccupied with the most important meal of the day and won't be planning any mayhem until later in the day. But let's meet for lunch. How about the Lido Restaurant at one?”

“Good. I'll track down Antonio and Ginny and see if they want to join us. Mr. Everett and Grace, too.”

“Great. I'm just going to grab my book and e-reader and then I'll be off.”

By the time Tricia returned to the lounge, Angelica had retreated into her own half of the suite. Tricia made sure her keycard was in her pocket before she closed the door behind her. She decided to walk up the three flights to the Kells Grill, and when she got there found
only a couple of stragglers seated at the tables. She glanced at her watch. She'd made it only ten minutes before they stopped serving.

“Ah, Ms. Miles. It's been days since we saw you,” Cristophano greeted her, and smiled.

“Do you work all three meal shifts?”

“
Sì
. Can I get you some coffee?” he asked as he handed her one of the leather-clad menus.

“I think I'll have a nice cup of tea.”

“Irish breakfast tea?”

“Sì.”

Cristophano nodded and headed for the beverage station across the room. Tricia only had time to turn on her e-reader before he returned with a pot of hot water and a tea bag. “Would you like a few moments to study the menu?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Cristophano nodded and respectfully retreated.

Tricia glanced at the menu. The full Irish breakfast looked inviting, with its fried eggs, rashers of bacon, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, sausage, baked beans, and sautéed potatoes. Tricia smiled and closed the folder. She set it on the table beside her and noticed Dori Douglas sitting at a table in the corner of the exclusive restaurant, the remnants of her breakfast before her, gazing out at the roiling gray seas, looking distinctly unhappy.

Cristophano returned. “Are you ready to order, madam?”

“Yes.” Tricia handed him the menu. “I'd like the full Irish breakfast.”

“Feeling particularly hungry today?” he inquired.

“I feel as if I've been starving for decades,” Tricia admitted truthfully.

“Very good.” He turned and headed for the kitchen.

Tricia wondered if she should speak to Dori but decided against it. She wanted a quiet breakfast with delicious food and intended to enjoy every moment of it. She turned her attention to her e-reader,
studied the titles on the main page, and decided to choose something a little darker to go along with the day's weather, but before she could open the file, Dori stood, noticed her, and headed in her direction.

“Hello, Tricia. Would you mind if I joined you?”

Yes, I would
. Still, she forced a smile. “I'd be delighted.”

Dori took the seat opposite Tricia.

Tricia waited and waited, but Dori didn't initiate conversation.

“Is everything all right, Dori?”

“I had a very unpleasant experience last evening that still has me upset.”

“Oh?”

Dori nodded. “I decided to treat myself and have a drink in the Chart Room. but when I got there I found a rowdy group of EM's fans discussing the possibility that she was murdered instead of committing suicide.”

Was the whole ship buzzing about that possibility?

“One of them knew I was the president of EM's fan club and told them so,” Dori continued. “Then they started debating whether
I
had the motive and opportunity to kill EM. Me, the woman who took care of her. I hid from the world the fact that EM was a sour, disagreeable woman. I answered her fan mail. I wrote and posted the updates to her blog and website. No one else in the world knew that I was the public face of the late, great, miserable EM Barstow,” she said bitterly.

“Perhaps they just imbibed too much,” Tricia suggested.

“They were drunk, all right. But I was scared they might come after me. I practically ran back to my cabin. I'm not sure I want to go back to any of the ship's common areas, in case someone comes after me.”

“I'm so sorry,” Tricia said, feeling bad for the poor woman.

“I thought this trip would be the chance of a lifetime. Instead, it's been a nightmare.”

There weren't a lot of high spots for Tricia, either, but her problems
were insignificant compared to Dori's. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Dori sighed. “No. I just needed someone to talk to. Thank you for being a sounding board.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help.”

“Maybe I could hang around with you today and tomorrow.”

Oh, God, no!

“Although I own a mystery bookstore, I seldom get the chance to lose myself in a book. I'm afraid my plans for the day are to find a quiet place to read. I don't think I'd be good company,” Tricia explained.

Dori's expression hardened. “I understand.” But it was apparent she didn't. She stood. “Well, I guess I'll be on my way. I wouldn't want to keep you from anything
reall
y important.” She pivoted and stormed off toward the door.

“Dori!” Tricia called after her, but the woman yanked open the etched-glass door and passed through it without a backward glance.

Tricia sighed. She'd been polite. That Dori had taken offense wasn't her fault. She'd let far too many people make her feel guilty if she dared contradict their vision of how she should react. Those days were over. Her mother's latest rejection had convinced her that if she wanted to plow forward in life—finally be her own person—she was going to have to cease to allow other people, including Angelica, to dictate who she was and what she'd do.

Sorry, Dori, but the rest of this trip is mine
, Tricia thought defiantly.

Cristophano appeared with a plate in hand. “Your breakfast, madam.”

“Thank you.”

“May I get you another pot of hot water?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

“Very well, madam.”

Again, Tricia was surprised that Cristophano didn't click his heels as he bowed. “Do let me know if I can get you anything else.”

“I will, thank you.”

Cristophano nodded and retreated.

Tricia looked at the virtual banquet on her plate and picked up her fork and knife before diving into the best breakfast of her life.

*   *   *

The Garden
Lounge was the perfect place to spend the day reading. Unfortunately, it wasn't a unique idea, as the cheerful, expansive room was jammed with other passengers who'd come to the same conclusion. The lights had been turned up to compensate for the gloomy skies and dark sea surrounding the ship, and with so many lively conversations going on Tricia knew there'd be no quiet to be found. She turned and headed for the stairwell. She'd look for a more tranquil spot to read, starting at the ship's lowest deck.

She'd nearly made it down to Deck 2 when she saw Mary Fairchild round the landing on her way up.

“Hey, Tricia!”

“Hi, Mary. What's up?”

“Busy day. Have you made plans for tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“Tonight's the big dance competition and I'm a little nervous. I've been having trouble with the paso doble.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A quick Spanish two-step.”

“I'm sure you'll do fine.”

“I'm hoping they stick to the more basic stuff. Still, after studying the competition, and unless a ringer shows up, I'm pretty confident,” Mary admitted. “But part of the scoring relates to audience approval. I'm trying to track down everyone from our group and ask them to please come and cheer me on.”

“What time does the contest start?”

“Nine in the Crystal Ballroom. Please say you'll be there.”

Tricia considered ballroom dancing as exciting as watching paint dry, but Mary was a friend, and there wasn't anything she'd do to hurt the woman's feelings. “Sounds like fun. Unless something comes up, I'll do my best to be there.”

“Thanks. Did you know Diana Lovell, the mystery author, was going to be one of the judges?”

“No, I hadn't heard that. I didn't know she was a dancer.”

“She's not. But she's been a devoted fan of every season of
Dancing with the Stars
, and she knows her stuff.”

If you say so
, Tricia thought, amused.

“Now, I'm off to the shopping arcade to buy a new dress. It'll cost the moon, but I want to make a spectacular impression on the judges.”

“I'm sure you'll look beautiful.”

“And then I'm going back to my cabin to practice some more dance steps. No one will say I'm not prepared for this.”

Tricia's smile broadened. “Well, as they say in show business, break a leg.”

Mary laughed. “I hope not!” She gave a quick wave and continued on her way upstairs once again. Tricia trundled down the last of the stairs to Deck 1 and considered entering the theater's ground floor, but when she looked inside the cavernous and empty auditorium, she reconsidered. There was a murderer running loose. Did she want to be alone in such an isolated area of the ship? No.