Title Wave (4 page)

“No, and I can see why. Maybe
she's
the reason EM is so grumpy.”

“Perhaps,” Angelica agreed, and took another sip of her drink. “She didn't seem all that grateful to her employer for sending her on this wonderful cruise. Inside cabin? Okay, not optimal. But having to sit on
one
panel as a consequence? That woman doesn't know a good thing when it's handed to her.”

“Maybe
we're
just jaded,” Tricia suggested.

“Nigela Ricita manages more than thirty employees, and I can't think of one of them who isn't respectful and grateful to be employed.”

“Maybe that's because they know what is expected of them and are paid enough that they're happy to fulfill their obligations. I don't think editors make all that much money.”

“Maybe. Perhaps it's best that I write nonfiction. I don't think I'd care to have someone trying to direct my narrative.”

“And I hear the battles with copy editors can be very frustrating,” Tricia said.

“Don't get me started on that topic,” Angelica said with just a touch of menace.

Tricia managed a wan smile. “But you have to agree—mystery or cooking—books are our lives.”

“That's true.”

“I'm looking forward to finding a bookshop or two in Bermuda.”

“Tomorrow we can check out the on-board shop, but as I recall from other cruises, there isn't a lot to choose from, apart from bestsellers and maritime history. Although I'm sure with so many authors on board, they'll have a ton of their books for sale.”

“I'm looking forward to sitting in a comfy chair back in the stateroom, or maybe in a place like this bar, and reading for hours and hours on end with nobody bothering me. Doesn't that sound like heaven?”

“You don't intend to partake of all the wonderful panels, discussions, and demonstrations?” Angelica asked.

“Yes, but what I really want to do is just wallow in a good, long read. It's been forever since I've been able to do that.”

“There'll be plenty of time for that, I'm sure. But you should schedule it for the return voyage.”

Tricia polished off the last of her drink. “Do you have other plans for tonight? I understand there are a couple of nightclubs on board.”

“I'm afraid my nightclub days are far behind me,” Angelica said, and sighed, then took one last sip of her drink. “Maybe Cathy was right. Maybe we
are
just a couple of old farts.”

“There's nothing wrong with wanting a quiet life,” Tricia said. She'd experienced far
too
much excitement during the previous six years, what with the murder and mayhem that seemed to be centered in the vicinity of her shop and that had taken away Stoneham's former title of Safest Village in New Hampshire. That's why the thought of a week-long cruise had appealed to her so much.

“But, honestly, neither of us leads a quiet life,” Angelica said.

“Then there's no need to worry about old fartdom,” Tricia said, amused.

“I may not dance the night away, but I've got a date with my laptop. I'm going to journal about this trip and all the fabulous ideas I'm coming up with for Nigela Ricita Associates.”

“You're not going to make poor Antonio work during his vacation, are you?”

“
Make
him work? Of course not. However, should he—and/or Ginny—
want
to discuss his working life with me, I'll be all ears.”

They got up from their seats and headed for the main corridor and the lifts. “You can work if you want, but I've got a date with Miss Marple—and this time it isn't my cat,” Tricia said.

“Looks like we'll both have a nice, quiet—and enjoyable—evening,” Angelica said.

Tricia was looking forward to five more of them, too. It was just what she needed.

And yet . . . something niggled at the back of her brain telling her not to get her hopes up.

She forged ahead, determined
not
to pay attention to what, back home, she might have called her better judgment.

After a
good long read and a wonderfully refreshing night's sleep, Tricia began her first full day at sea the same way she started her days at home—with a brisk walk. After her apartment had been smoke damaged during the fire almost a year before, she'd spent a good deal of her time walking Angelica's dog, Sarge. Once winter had once again reared its ugly head, she'd had to return to her treadmill. It wasn't nearly as satisfying.

Her usual routine was to walk four miles. According to a plaque mounted midship on the Promenade Deck, three and a half circuits around the boat would equal a mile. Tricia had plenty of company, as many others on board either walked or jogged along or past her, imparting a feeling of camaraderie.

The weather was clear, but the wind was bracing as she power walked around the deck counterclockwise. She could have gone to the spa to use one of their treadmills, but as at home, she preferred
the fresh air. It helped to clear her head. She dearly missed her cat, Miss Marple, but knew that she was being well taken care of by her assistant, Pixie Poe. Perhaps later she'd visit the ship's computer centre, buy some Wi-Fi time, and e-mail Pixie to see how things were going at the store and check up on Miss Marple, too. Pixie was not only cat sitting, but house sitting, as well. Tricia could picture Pixie in the evening, stretched out on the long leather couch in her living room, surrounded by books, with Miss Marple lying on her stomach. The cat and Pixie got along fine; it was Tricia who was suffering from separation anxiety. That Pixie might invite her boyfriend, Fred Pillins, to spend the night was a topic Tricia did not wish to contemplate.

Tricia returned to her shared stateroom to find Angelica clad in a plush white terry robe with
Celtic Lady
embroidered in green above the pocket, seated on one of the loveseats with a room service cart laden with pastries and other goodies beside her.

“There you are. Sebastian just brought in our breakfast tray. I figured you were out catching some fresh air. You do look rather windblown.”

“You should walk with me tomorrow morning.”

“I should,” Angelica agreed. She changed the subject. “Sebastian also made a delivery while you were gone.”

Tricia looked around the stateroom.

“Check your bedroom.”

Tricia pivoted and walked the five steps to her room. The bed had been made and on it sat a wrapped gift. She picked up the rectangular box and gave it a shake. Nothing rattled. The paper was white with the words
Celtic Lady
printed on it multiple times in green ink, with a wide Kelly green ribbon and bow.

Tricia frowned. Had the person who sent the champagne to their table the night before struck once again? She wasn't sure how she felt about having an admirer from afar. She'd been stalked before, and the idea of it happening again worried her.

She returned to the lounge. “There's no card.”

“Perhaps it's inside,” Angelica suggested.

Tricia took a seat on the opposite loveseat and set the box on her lap, then pulled the ribbon. She carefully removed the tape from one end of the box.

“Oh, go ahead and tear the paper,” Angelica admonished. “It's not like you're going to save and reuse it.”

“Someone went to a lot of trouble to make the package look pretty.” And the truth was she was worried about its contents. It wasn't only shirts that came in a box that size.

Removing the paper, Tricia lifted the lid and drew back the green tissue paper.

“What is it?” Angelica demanded.

Tricia withdrew a navy cardigan. Gold-toned buttons fastened the front.

“Well, that's . . .” Angelica paused. “Not especially special.”

Tricia looked into the box, where she found the same kind of card that had arrived with the wine the night before. “It says,
To keep you warm during the long winter
.”

“And it's not signed?” Angelica asked.

Tricia shook her head. She set the sweater back in the box and frowned yet again.

“If nothing else, it's a thoughtful gift,” Angelica said.

“Why would somebody send me a sweater?”

“Maybe you look cold.”

Tricia's frown deepened.

“Would you have preferred to receive sexy underwear?”

“No!”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

“Whoever sent this and the wine is most likely a passenger on this ship.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because of the wrapping paper.” She handed it across to Angelica, who glanced at it and then wadded it into a ball and set it on the breakfast cart. “Not necessarily. It's possible to order wine, flowers, or any other gift for a passenger on a cruise. I remember Mother once telling me that she received a big box of chocolates from Daddy's firm while they were on that cruise to Greece way back when.”

Tricia remembered hearing that same story.

Angelica reached over, picked up a gooey pastry, and took a bite. She chewed and swallowed. “With all the good food available here, I'm going to need to go on a diet once we get home.”

Tricia set the box and sweater aside, stood to shrug out of her jacket, and then set it on the back of the opposite couch before she moved to look over the breakfast items available. Among the foods on offer was yogurt, so she was good to go. She picked up one of the containers and a spoon and sat down. “Did you look over the Daily Program last night?”

Angelica licked her sticky fingers before she reached for the coffee carafe. “Yes. There's a marketing lecture at ten that could be interesting.”

“What do you need to know about marketing? You're already a whiz.”

“I
am
,” she agreed, and poured coffee into two cups. “But I'm sure there must be
something
else I can learn. I assume you're heading straight for the library.”

Tricia ate a spoonful of apricot yogurt before answering. “I don't think they open until ten. I may just go exploring in the interim. Want to come with me?”

“Maybe—maybe not.” Angelica picked up a cup and handed it to Tricia. “Later, I thought I might go to EM Barstow's question-and-answer panel.”

“Whatever for?” Tricia asked. “Didn't you have enough of that ill-tempered woman last night at dinner?”

“It's rather fun—in a voyeuristic way—to see someone make an ass of themselves. She's a true candidate for
Authors Behaving Badly
. I feel sorry for her traveling companion, though. Imagine having to put up with that kind of vitriol on a regular basis.”

“Maybe she's paid well,” Tricia suggested.

“You couldn't pay me enough to endure that.” Angelica's expression turned quizzical. “Do you think they're partners?”

“I have no idea—and I really don't care to speculate.”

“I wonder if EM's editor will be in the audience during her appearance.”

“If she is, she may not be cheering EM on,” Tricia said.

Angelica drank the last of her coffee and got up. “I'm going to get ready for the day. Are we going to meet somewhere for lunch?”

“We could. I think there's a lull in the programming between noon and three. We'll probably miss out on afternoon tea.”

“We have five more days to enjoy it,” Angelica pointed out.

“Where shall we meet for lunch? Or rather, how formal do you want lunch to be?” Tricia asked.

“I'm in the mood for casual.”

“Then that would be the Lido Restaurant, which I've heard is more or less cafeteria style.”

“That actually appeals to me,” Angelica said. “Then we can have a taste of many things, in as big or small a portion as we want.”

“And as many desserts as you want?” Tricia asked.

Angelica smiled. “That, too.”

Sebastian appeared at the doorway to Angelica's quarters. “Ms. Miles? I've made up the bed and drawn your bath.”

“Thank you, Sebastian.”

The butler nodded curtly. “Please let me know if I may be of further assistance.”

“We will. Thank you.”

The sisters watched as their valet left the stateroom, pulling the door shut behind him.

“I could get used to this kind of treatment,” Angelica said, and headed for her bedroom and bath.
“À bientôt.”

Tricia, too, got up from her couch, wondering what she should do with the breakfast cart. Oh, well, Angelica had ordered it—she'd let her sister worry about it.

She changed her clothes, making sure she placed the small folded map of the ship she'd received upon boarding in the pocket of her slacks, and headed for the library.

As she'd feared, it didn't open until ten. She wandered through the stately room that spanned two decks via a spiral staircase and gazed through the beveled glass on the cabinets that housed the books, sighing at the sight of all those lovely titles. She tried one of the doors. Locked. Was that to keep them safe in rough seas, or to keep them from sticky fingers that might not return them? No doubt the keycard was also used as a library card, as well as for identification and purchasing goods from the ship's stores. That was an idea. She could check out the shopping venues on board.

After consulting her map, Tricia climbed the forward stairs to Deck 3 and headed for the ship's arcade. None of the shops were open at that time of day, but she wasn't the only one who'd come to do a little window shopping. Among the gawkers was EM Barstow's dinner companion from the previous evening. She stood before the jewelry shop, staring at some of the merchandise inside a sturdy case.

Tricia moved to stand beside her. “Beautiful, aren't they?”

The woman looked up. “Out of my price range I'm afraid, but yes, they are.”

“Hi. I'm Tricia Miles.”

“Dori Douglas.” The woman's cheeks colored. “I recognize you from dinner last night. I'm so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For Ms. Barstow's behavior. She's under a lot of stress these days. I try to take up the slack, but . . .” She let the sentence hang.

“Are you her assistant?” Tricia asked.

Dori took a breath as though to answer, then held it. “Sort of. She doesn't pay me. I'm the president of her fan club.”

Tricia's eyes widened. Barstow had a fan club? Why would anyone willingly want to spend a minute with that miserable woman? Tricia forced a smile, trying to reserve judgment.

“Not only is Ms. Barstow a three-time Edgar winner, she's a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author,” Dori said with pride.

“I'm well acquainted with her work,” Tricia said. “I'm a bookseller. I specialize in mysteries.”

“Isn't it wonderful to be among so many others who are equally as passionate about the written word and are able to gush without getting strange looks and comments?”

Tricia nodded. “I've felt that way on more than one occasion.” They shared a smile. “So you're acting as Ms. Barstow's traveling companion?”

Dori sighed. “I try to run interference for her. I'm afraid I haven't done a very good job on this trip. She comes across as rather abrupt”—that was an understatement—“but she's really very sweet and generous. She paid all my travel expenses. I'd never be able to afford a vacation like this on my retirement income.”

“I met Ms. Barstow's editor last night,” Tricia said.

Dori frowned and sighed. “She's
very
young.”

“I guess everyone has to start somewhere.”

“I don't see why someone fresh out of college, and with no
real
experience, should get to edit—to critique—someone as capable, and successful, as Emmie.”

Did Dori really believe it, or was she just parroting what her idol had said?

“Ms. Copper said this was their second book together. Presumably she works with a number of other authors.”

“Not the caliber of EM Barstow,” Dori said emphatically.

Tricia was afraid Dori might be on the verge of disparaging some of the other authors on board and decided it was time to terminate the conversation. “Well, I hope you enjoy the rest of the trip.”

“Thank you. You, too.”

“I'm sure we'll see each other again.”

“And hopefully have a more peaceful dinner,” Dori added with an embarrassed laugh.

Tricia gave the woman a parting smile and headed aft. There was still so much of the ship she wanted to explore. She passed through the upper lobby area and found herself in front of a gallery of photos taken by the shipboard photographers and was startled to see a picture of herself and Angelica as they'd entered the ship. She hadn't even noticed the photographers. Though a candid, it was a nice shot. Tricia hadn't had a professional photograph taken of herself in more than a decade. Maybe she and Angelica should have a portrait taken together. Oh, and one with Ginny, Antonio, and little Sofia, too.