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  “What is it?” Ginny whispered, squinting to look at what Tricia held in her hand.

  “Evidence,” Tricia said. Cupping her hand around the card, she showed it to Ginny.

  “Oh my God!” Ginny said so loudly that every head at the table swiveled in her direction.

  “Ginny?” Angelica said, her tone as concerned as a new mother’s, and since she was a new mother-in-law, who saw Ginny as equally important to her as her beloved stepson, there seemed to be a note of panic in her voice, as well.

  Ginny stabbed her right index finger in Tricia’s direction. Still shielding the card, Tricia showed it to Angelica, whose mouth had dropped open in shock. “It was in your piece of cake?” Angelica whispered.

  Tricia nodded.

  “What should we do?” Ginny asked.

  “We should do nothing. But I think you need to talk to Officer McDonald,” Angelica said.

  “Yes, but how do I get his attention?” Tricia asked.

  “Well,” Angelica began, “maybe you just ask for him to come to you.”

  That seemed logical, but as Angelica had already pointed out, McDonald was probably a night-shift officer and it was after one o’clock in the afternoon. Would he appreciate being ripped from his daytime slumber to talk to her about her find?

  It didn’t matter. She had already spoken to him and she didn’t want to try to establish a rapport with another one of the ship’s crew.

  “What are you going to do?” Angelica asked.

  “Does anyone have a camera?” Tricia asked.

  “I do,” Ginny said, and reached for her purse.

  “Will it give the time and date when you take the shot?” Tricia asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then please take a photo. Not only of me holding the keycard, but of everyone at the table. And I think I should be taken holding it with everyone at the table, just so there’s no disputing the time and date of my discovery.”

  “You sound a little paranoid,” Ginny commented.

  “So be it,” Tricia said.

  So Ginny took eight or ten shots of Tricia holding the sticky keycard with everyone at the table.

  “Now what do you intend to do?” Angelica asked once Tricia had resumed her seat.

  In answer, Tricia looked around, held up her hand, caught the attention of one of the waiters, and beckoned him to come forward. “Is there any chance you could call a security officer to the dining room? Officer McDonald, if possible.”

  “What for, madam?”

  “Because I found this”—she showed him the keycard—“in my piece of cake.”

  The waiter looked horrified and reached to snatch the offending piece of plastic from her, but Tricia was too quick for him. She clamped her hand around the card. “Oh, no. I’ll only give this to Officer McDonald. And I’m prepared to sit here all afternoon if need be to do it, too.”

  The waiter nodded. “Very good, madam. I will call security. If you would be so good as to remain at your table after the luncheon concludes, I will make sure that someone from ship’s security speaks with you.”

  “Officer McDonald,” Tricia reiterated, “or I’m not giving this up.”

  “As you say, madam.” The man bowed, pivoted, and briskly walked away.

  “What if this takes a while?” Barbara asked. “Do we have to stay here while you wait for the security guy?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. But perhaps if you decide to leave, you’d give me your full names and cabin numbers, just in case Officer McDonald wants to speak with you.”

  “Okay. Because Larry Andrews’s cooking demonstration is at two o’clock, and Linda and I don’t want to miss it.” Angelica came up with a notebook and pen, and the Gordon sisters entered their information before they got up, pushed in their chairs, and made a hasty exit.

  “Looks like I’ll be missing Larry’s spectacular presentation,” Angelica groused and reached for the wine bottle to top up her glass. She found it empty and frowned.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave, too,” Maria said after writing down her information. “It was very nice to meet you all.” She got up and hurried away.

  “You and Ginny don’t have to stay, Ange. Go ahead and do what you want to do. As long as we have the images on Ginny’s phone, we don’t have to worry about eyewitnesses,” Tricia said.

  “I’m not going to leave you,” Angelica said emphatically. “But you don’t have to stay, Ginny. You should go find your husband and baby and have a wonderful time.”

  “Are you sure?” Ginny asked, sounding decidedly unsure.

  “Absolutely,” Angelica said, leaned forward, and gave Ginny a hug.

  Ginny pulled away. “Okay, but only because you insisted. We’ll catch up with you both later this afternoon.”

  “It’s a date,” Tricia said.

  Ginny got up and gave them a wave before she started for the exit.

  “We’ll stay with you two,” Grace volunteered.

  “Oh, no,” Tricia said. “I really don’t think it’s necessary. And, in fact, I’m the only one who has to stay. I’ve got my e-reader in my purse. I could sit here and be entertained for hours until Officer McDonald gets here.”

  “Are you sure, Ms. Miles?” Mr. Everett asked.

  “Yes. You two run along and have fun.”

  “Very well. We’ll see you later this evening for dinner,” he said.

  “That would be splendid,” Tricia said.

  Grace nodded, and Mr. Everett got up and helped her from her chair before they, too, left the restaurant. It seemed as though the rest of the place had emptied, as well.

  The waitstaff began clearing the tables, including the one Tricia and Angelica sat at. They left the crumb-littered tablecloth, but took off every plate, glass, salt and pepper shaker, and floral arrangement, already setting up for the early dinner crowd.

  Angelica had focused her attention out the bank of windows that overlooked the boat’s stern and the long river of white water churned up by the Celtic Lady’s huge propellers. Meanwhile, Tricia examined the keycard. How the heck had it ended up in one of the ship-made cakes? The fact that it hadn’t been in EM’s stateroom at the time of her death could only mean one thing: that someone had taken it after her death. And that fact certainly pointed to the probability that she hadn’t died by her own hand.

  Angelica turned back to face Tricia. “I wonder if the waiter could be convinced to bring us more coffee.”

  “You could ask,” Tricia said, but since there were no members of the waitstaff within listening distance, that was going to prove difficult. “Finding this keycard in the cake might mean whoever killed EM was a member of the crew, and probably a kitchen staff member.”

  “Not necessarily,” Angelica said. “Anybody who went on one of the kitchen tours earlier today could have dropped it into the batter.”

  “Kitchen tours?”

  “Didn’t you see the announcement in the Daily Program? There are two different types. The first is for anybody and is free. But if you’re willing to pay, you can get a personal tour. Antonio and I are booked for the Friday morning extended tour.”

  “Really?”

  Angelica nodded. “We want to see how they operate. Maybe we can learn something that we can adapt for the Brookview Inn’s kitchen or another eatery we may open in the future.”

  “Admit it; you’d pay extra just to tour the kitchen even if you didn’t run two restaurants.”

  Angelica offered a weak smile. “Probably.”

  Tricia glanced at her watch. It had been nearly twenty minutes since the party had broken up and security had been called. It was sure taking a long time for someone from ship’s security to show up. Perhaps Security Officer McDonald was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t heard the call. Many of the crew spoke English as a second (or perhaps third) l
anguage. Maybe they hadn’t conveyed the seriousness of her find.

  “Here come a couple of hunky guys in uniform,” Angelica practically sang.

  As Tricia had hoped, Ian McDonald was one of them.

  “Ms. Miles,” he said in greeting, although he didn’t sound pleased. “I understand you found a piece of Ms. Barstow’s property in your”—he paused—“afters.”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, it was in a piece of cake baked to resemble her last book.”

  She held out the still-sticky keycard, but McDonald donned a pair of latex gloves before he took it from her. He pursed his lips as he studied the piece of evidence. “Where’s the cake now?”

  “They cleared it away. But some of my tablemates had their cameras and took pictures. I asked if they’d be willing to show them to you, and they all said yes.”

  McDonald passed the keycard to his associate, who had also donned gloves, and he secured the card in a plastic evidence bag.

  “So, what do you think?” Tricia asked.

  “I need to ponder the significance of this find.”

  “Ponder how?” Angelica said. “The lady didn’t have it in her possession when she died. That means somebody lifted it. Could they have used it as well?”

  “That’s something we’ll be checking.”

  “It sounds to me like you’ve got a potentially bigger crime than petty theft to investigate,” Tricia said.

  “And that is?”

  “Murder.”

  McDonald looked uncomfortable. “We will consider every option.”

  “Just not that hard?” Angelica suggested.

  “Every option,” he repeated firmly. “Now, how can I track down the people who were sitting with you when you made this . . .” He hesitated. “Discovery?”

  “We made a list,” Tricia said, but since her hands were still sticky from the cake and icing, she pointed at the table, and McDonald picked up the paper.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Will you keep me informed on what you find out about the case?”

  “We don’t have cases on board. But we will consider what you’ve said.”

  “You better listen to her,” Angelica warned. “Tricia has a knack for this kind of thing.”

  McDonald frowned. “Is that because you own a mystery bookstore?”

  “And she’s helped the police back home crack a few murder cases, too,” Angelica said with pride. “If she wasn’t more interested in reading about crime rather than solving it, Tricia would have made a marvelous detective.”

  “Why, thank you, Ange,” Tricia said, smiling.

  Angelica shrugged. “No brag; just fact.”

  McDonald’s expression was dour, but he gave Tricia a nod. “We’ll be in touch.” He turned, and he and his associate headed back the way they’d come.

  “What do you think?” Angelica asked.

  “That unless somebody comes walking along with a sign around his or her neck that says ‘I strangled EM Barstow,’ they aren’t going to lift a finger to try and figure out how she really died.”

  “One thing’s for sure; it’s hard to hang yourself without some kind of illumination—and without that keycard, EM’s stateroom would have been as dark as a cave.”

  “Yes, and they know that, too.” Tricia pushed back her chair. “Can you carry my purse? My hands are terribly sticky.”

  “Sure thing. There’s a loo just around the corner from the restaurant’s main entrance. You can wash them there.”

  They left the table and headed for the restaurant’s entrance, retracing McDonald’s footsteps. Tricia wasn’t surprised at the ship’s officers’ lack of interest in upgrading EM’s cause of death from suicide to murder. It was their job to protect the cruise line’s reputation. But as she walked through the empty and cavernous restaurant, she found she felt more than a little worried about her own, and her friends’ and family’s, security.

  THIRTEEN

  Since Angelica had missed the beginning of Larry Andrews’s demonstration, and Tricia the next scheduled event for authors and readers, they decided to skip the presentations altogether.

  “What do you want to do next?” Angelica asked wearily.

  “I could use some downtime. I only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night.”

  “That’s a good idea. With everyone going to all these events, I wonder if the spa would have an opening. Wouldn’t a massage be heavenly?”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Manicure? Pedicure?” Angelica asked hopefully.

  “Not right now. But I promise I’ll go with you on the trip back to New York.”

  Angelica shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I’ll walk you to the spa,” Tricia offered.

  “And then walk all the way back to the stateroom on your own? No way, honey.”

  “I don’t want to spoil your fun.”

  “There’s a soaker tub in my bathroom. There’re some kind of bath salts in there, too. If I dump in a lot, it might even become a bubble bath, especially if I can figure out how to make those jets work.”

  “You don’t mind?” Tricia asked.

  “Not a bit,” Angelica said, and wrapped an arm around Tricia’s shoulder. “I’m really proud of you. You told ship’s security what they didn’t want to hear, but you said it anyway. Just don’t say it too loud. I don’t want to frighten Ginny.”

  “Will you tell Antonio?”

  “Yes. But since we’re now convinced EM’s death was murder, I really do want us to stick together. So no going off on your own. Promise?”

  Tricia nodded. “Okay.”

  Angelica removed her arm and they headed for the lifts. As it happened, one seemed to be waiting for them, for as soon as Tricia pressed the up button, the doors opened and they stepped inside.

  Angelica pressed the button for Deck 7.

  “I must say, your maternal instincts have certainly blossomed of late,” Tricia observed.

  “They were always there, but I wasn’t able to show them back in Stoneham.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there’s this whole Nigela Ricita mystique. Honestly, I can get a lot more done with that kind of anonymity.”

  “The winter weather has helped keep your relationship with Antonio, Ginny, and Sofia under wraps, but what’s going to happen when the baby starts calling you Nonna?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I was hoping she’d call me Nonna Angelica, and Grace, Nonna Grace. That would be an easy way to explain it away.”

  “Maybe,” Tricia said.

  The lift doors opened and they got off and headed for their stateroom. Once again the long corridors were eerily empty. They walked in silence to the stateroom, and Angelica extracted her keycard from her purse to enter their suite. Thanks to the wide expanse of windows that overlooked their balcony, sunshine poured into the lounge. Tricia was glad her bedroom was supplied with room-darkening drapes.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” she told her sister.

  “Tootles!” Angelica said, and retired to her own side of the stateroom.

  Tricia was happy to see that Sebastian had returned the room to pristine condition. It seemed a shame to disturb the bed, but she really was tired. And then she saw the box on the bedside table. It was wrapped in the same paper and bow that had accompanied the sweater she’d received the day before.

  “Not again,” she muttered. She crossed the room in five steps and picked up the box. Heavy. And she had an inkling what she’d find when she removed the wrapping. She wasn’t wrong. A sealed, one-pound box of Belgian chocolates. The card that accompanied it said, Sweets for the sweet.

  Would Sebastian know where these mysterious gifts were coming from, or did they just arrive from the shops in the ship’s arcade and he was nothing but a messenger? I
t was doubtful the shopkeepers would reveal who purchased the sweater and candy. If a customer in her store swore her to secrecy, she would have to respect their wishes—or forever lose a customer? Except for the champagne, the sweater and candy hadn’t been expensive gifts. In fact, though they were thoughtful, they were quite pedestrian.

  Tricia was too tired to even contemplate why someone had chosen her as a target of affection. She set the box back down on the night table and crossed the room to close the curtains. She pulled back the duvet, lay down, and wondered if now that she truly suspected EM’s death to be murder instead of suicide, if thoughts of finding the body would ruin her slumber. She didn’t have time to ponder that thought long, for in less than a minute she’d fallen asleep.

  * * *

  Tricia awoke to the sound of voices in the next room. She got up, checked her appearance in the mirror, and decided to drag a comb through her hair before she faced whoever was in the lounge with Angelica. No surprise. It was Ginny—albeit a very upset Ginny.

  “What’s wrong?” Tricia asked as she entered the lounge.

  Ginny sat on the loveseat across from Angelica, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t believe I’ve mislaid my phone. Not only does it have the pictures we took at the luncheon today, but it’s got all my pictures of Sofia on it from the past month or so. Why didn’t I download them before we left home?”

  “Do you think you know where you left it?” Tricia asked, feeling panicky.

  Ginny looked thoughtful. “Maybe in the Garden Lounge. Antonio and I were sitting there at a table overlooking the water, looking for dolphins, turtles, and sharks. I wanted to have it handy in case we saw one so I could take a picture.”

  “Maybe one of the crew found it and turned it in to the lost and found,” Angelica suggested.

  “Where would that be?”

  “I’m pretty sure at the Purser’s Office. I’d be happy to go down there with you to report it.”

  “Thanks, Tricia.” Ginny rose. “Let me tell Antonio where we’re going.” She hurried out the door.

  “Don’t let her go wandering off on her own,” Angelica warned.

  “I won’t.” Tricia glanced to her right and saw that a colorful sunset stained the few clouds in the sky. “Goodness. How long did I sleep?”