Title Wave Page 18

  Tricia sighed. “I don’t think Angelica knows how to relax.”

  “I think she’s having the time of her life,” Ginny said, smiling.

  Tricia nodded. “You may be right.”

  “We did have a moment to speak, though.” Ginny’s voice softened. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with your visit with your parents.”

  “So, Angelica let you and Antonio in on the secret of the big reunion, but she kept it from me?”

  “Don’t be angry with her, but, yes, she did discuss it with us. She strongly discouraged us from meeting your mother.”

  “As I thought,” Tricia muttered.

  “It was your father who wanted the meeting.”

  “Really?”

  Ginny nodded. “When he found out the two of you were making the trip, he engineered the meeting, but I guess Angelica was worried that if you knew you wouldn’t want to come on the cruise. I guess your mother didn’t know until this morning that the two of you would meet them for lunch.”

  They’d both been duped.

  Tricia shook her head. “When you think about it, the situation is really quite pathetic.”

  “I understand your mother’s loss, but I would have thought she’d have poured all her love into you, instead of blaming you for that loss.”

  “There’s no explaining the ways of the heart,” Tricia said sadly. “But oddly enough, I feel a sense of closure. I love my mother; I always will. But I don’t know as I need to have her in my life.”

  “As a new mom, I can’t imagine what it would take for Sofia to feel that way.”

  “That’s because you love her unconditionally.”

  Ginny’s smile held a touch of sadness. “That’s true. And I feel terribly sorry for your mother. She has no idea what she’s missed.” Ginny lunged forward and gave Tricia a hug. She pulled back. “I know that nobody can ever compensate for the loss of a mother’s love, but since I found out that Angelica was Antonio’s stepmother, I’ve felt that we were all family. I feel proud to think of you as the big sister I never had.”

  “Oh, Ginny,” Tricia said, her lower lip trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “Thank you,” she somehow managed to say.

  “And I have good news. I found my phone!”

  Tricia raised a hand to wipe her eyes. “Where was it?”

  “Antonio found it tucked down the side of Sofia’s stroller.”

  “That’s one mystery solved.”

  “Yes. We took it to the ship’s security officer and they downloaded the pictures from yesterday’s lunch. Apparently, they’ve now spoken to everyone who was at our table.”

  “And?”

  “If they’ve come to any conclusions, they weren’t sharing it with any of us.”

  That wasn’t surprising.

  “I guess we’ve done all we could to redirect their thoughts away from the idea that EM committed suicide and to look at the possibility she was murdered.”

  “Why would you say that?” Tricia asked.

  “Oh, come on. You had to think it was murder right from the get-go. If her keycard wasn’t in her cabin’s power slot, how could she have seen what she was doing to hang herself?”

  So Ginny, too, had noticed the significance of that little piece of the puzzle.

  “Angelica didn’t want you to worry and was concerned you’d be upset about Sofia’s safety.”

  Ginny sighed. “I admit it: I’m not comfortable knowing there’s a killer on board, but then how much safer are we back home where a murder seems to happen a couple of times a year? But I don’t think I want to leave Sofia with a sitter anymore, especially since she may have picked up the sniffles.”

  “Angelica and I were talking about perhaps taking the rest of our meals at the Lido Restaurant. That way we wouldn’t have to wait for the late seating and could all have dinner together without worry about the baby making noise.”

  “She’s liable to make noise, but at least we wouldn’t have to get all dressed up. It was fun the first time, but it’s getting old fast. I think if we stick together—especially during the evenings—we’ll be fine. Can you believe our vacation is already half over?”

  “Time has gone by fast,” Tricia admitted. “But I must admit I’m psyched to get home and start renovating my apartment and the new storeroom.”

  “I’ve learned a lot during my time at the Happy Domestic. I’d love to help you pick out colors and accessories.”

  “I think Angelica’s got her heart set on doing that—but I’m sure she’d be thrilled to share that duty with you. I like the exposed brick, and I want to make sure there’s an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves in the new living room.”

  “Oh, that’s a given,” Ginny said, and laughed, then sobered. “Are you okay?”

  “You mean am I okay to be left alone?”

  Ginny nodded.

  “I’m perfectly safe in any of the common areas. Remember, we’re all on Candid Camera,” she said, nodding in the direction of one of the dark globes that was mounted on a wall in the corner of the room.

  Again, Ginny laughed. “You’re right about that. Okay, I’m going to catch up with Antonio. We’re heading for dinner at the Lido around six thirty if you want to join us.”

  “We had a very late lunch. I’m not sure we’ll be hungry by then.”

  “That’s okay. If you make it—you make it. If not, we’ll catch up in the morning, okay?”

  “Right. See you later, then.”

  “Bye.”

  Tricia watched as Ginny retraced her steps, heading for the lifts.

  The late-afternoon sunshine felt wonderful, and Tricia turned her gaze back to the pier. A number of couples were ambling along the dock, hand in hand, making their way back from their time on shore. Among them were a few stragglers, including Dori Douglas. She carried several plastic bags, and Tricia wondered if she’d been buying souvenirs. She frowned. Dori had been gone an awfully long time. Tricia glanced at her watch—almost eight hours. Dori must have done a lot of shopping.

  Tricia picked up her book once more, but found she could no longer concentrate on it. What she needed was a pick-me-up. After all, she hadn’t had an opportunity to finish her lunchtime martini. Okay, she had had a glass of champagne during afternoon tea, but that hadn’t hit the spot. Champagne was for celebrating, and while she felt good about her relationship with Angelica, the events at the Contessa had left her feeling relieved, but mildly depressed. Alcohol was a depressant, but at that moment Tricia really didn’t care.

  She collected her book and bag and started off for what was becoming her favorite of the ship’s bars.

  It was early, and the drinking crowd was sparse, but Tricia smiled as she saw a familiar face sitting by the window gazing out over the harbor. She approached.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Angelica looked up and smiled. “There you are.”

  “I see you started without me,” Tricia said, eyeing the untouched martini that sat on one of the ship’s embossed cocktail napkins. “I was waiting for you.”

  “Lies. Otherwise you would have ordered one for me, too.”

  Tricia sat down and looked up to see a waitress coming toward her, carrying a tray with yet another martini.

  “Just in time,” Angelica told the waitress, and surrendered her keycard. They watched as the waitress retraced her steps to the bar to make the charge.

  “Have you become psychic?” Tricia asked in awe, and reached for her glass.

  Angelica smiled and did likewise. “Maybe. What shall we drink to?”

  “Home,” Tricia said, and they clinked glasses. “As lovely as the ship is, and as terrific as the food is, the truth is . . . I miss my cat. I miss my bed. I miss my store. I just want to go home.”

  “We’ll be on our way tomorrow,” Angelica sai
d.

  “I may bow out of the rest of the activities and just be lazy and read.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Angelica agreed.

  Tricia took a sip of her martini. She was really beginning to like them. “I caught up with Ginny, and we’re on for dinner at six thirty.”

  “I hope I can work up an appetite by then,” Angelica said.

  “There’s always soup.”

  “That’s true. And rolls—with butter. Lots and lots with butter!”

  That actually sounded pretty good to Tricia.

  “Anything new happen?” Angelica asked.

  “It’s only been a couple of hours since we talked.”

  “A lot can happen in a couple of hours,” Angelica said.

  “Well, I did see Cathy Copper meet someone out on the pier. A man,” Tricia said coyly.

  “Really,” Angelica asked, her eyes widening. “A lover?”

  “I don’t think so. They shook hands.”

  Angelica scowled. “Well, that’s no fun.” She looked up and over Tricia’s head and blinked in surprise. “Speak of the devil.”

  Tricia looked around, and then turned back to her sister. “That’s him,” she whispered.

  Cathy and the stranger stood talking by the open entrance to the bar. The man had lost his duffel. He’d probably stowed it in his cabin.

  “I didn’t know we were picking up any passengers,” Angelica said.

  “Neither did I.”

  Angelica’s smile widened and she waved, and then gestured for the couple outside the bar to join them. Tricia turned to see a thin-lipped Cathy and the newcomer approach. “Looks like you found a new friend,” Angelica said, grinning.

  “Harold Pilger,” Cathy began, “this is Angelica and Tricia Miles. They’re booksellers.” She didn’t sound thrilled.

  Harold reached down to shake their hands. “Nice to meet you. Were you friends of EM’s?”

  “Uh, no,” Tricia answered honestly.

  Harold shot a puzzled look at Cathy.

  “Harold is a lawyer who works for my publishing company.”

  “Ah,” Angelica said, nodding.

  “So you’re on board representing the publisher’s interests?” Tricia asked.

  “You could say that,” Harold said, his gaze wandering over to the bar.

  “Did you fly into Hamilton?” Angelica asked.

  “Yes. I got in last night. I stayed in a lovely pink hotel that overlooked the harbor.”

  “The Hamilton Contessa?” Tricia guessed.

  “Why yes. Have you ever stayed there?”

  “No,” Angelica answered emphatically.

  Harold blinked, apparently startled by her blunt tone.

  “Are you investigating EM’s death?” Tricia asked.

  Again Harold blinked. “Investigating?”

  “Perhaps I should have said looking into,” she amended.

  “I guess you could say that,” Harold said, but he didn’t sound all that sure.

  “Harold and I have a lot to talk about,” Cathy said, sounding more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Don’t let us keep you,” Angelica said.

  “I hope you enjoy your few days at sea,” Tricia said.

  Harold nodded. “It was nice meeting you.” He turned to Cathy. “Shall we snag a table?”

  “Yes. We’ll see you ladies around,” Cathy said.

  “I’m sure you will,” Angelica said, plastering on a smile.

  The couple gave them a parting nod and headed for the other side of the bar.

  Tricia sat back in her seat. “Interesting.”

  “Very interesting,” Angelica agreed.

  “Why would a lawyer come on board?” Tricia mused.

  “Perhaps Cathy didn’t believe EM’s death was suicide any more than you do. Perhaps she called her boss and they sent someone to make inquiries on the publisher’s behalf. EM was no doubt worth a lot of money to them.”

  “There could be a provision in her will allowing the estate to authorize someone to continue writing with her name. There are plenty of authors who’ve died, yet still crank out bestselling books—either written by ghostwriters or with a lesser-known author’s name in a much smaller font on the cover. Tom Clancy is a prime example. Other times, a family member has taken up the reins of a series. Felix Francis immediately comes to mind.”

  “I never read any of their books.”

  “You’ve missed out,” Tricia said with pity.

  “The original books or the after-death books?”

  “Both.”

  The sisters thoughtfully sipped their martinis. “You know,” Tricia said at last. “I’ve been thinking about the night I found EM.”

  “Oh! Why would you want to revisit that terrible event?” Angelica asked, chagrined.

  “Not so much what I saw—but what I didn’t see.”

  “And what was that?”

  “Her computer.”

  “Perhaps she’d packed it away for the night.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean, I never saw her without it. I’ll bet she had it plugged in every night so that it would be fully charged so she could take it to various places on the ship and write.”

  “You did say you saw her writing in the library on our first day at sea.”

  “And she brought it to the bar that first night to show Cathy her ideas about where she wanted her series to go.”

  “Do you think the killer stole it?”

  “Could be. I wonder if Cathy was allowed into EM’s stateroom, didn’t see the computer, and either immediately called her bosses—”

  “Very expensive at sea,” Angelica said.

  “—or fired off an e-mail to let them know the computer was missing. It may have held the only copy of her latest work in progress.”

  “Surely she had a flash drive or uploaded it to the cloud,” Angelica suggested.

  “Internet connections can be spotty at sea.”

  “As I have found out,” Angelica agreed. “But I still think any writer would be a fool not to have backup. I mean—accidents happen. I once spilled a cup of coffee on my laptop. Good-bye, laptop!” She looked around Tricia to take in Harold and Cathy across the way. “I still don’t understand why they’d send a lawyer. Wouldn’t a private detective be a better choice?”

  Tricia took another sip of her martini. “Maybe. Perhaps they’re looking for a legal loophole to do a little snooping for the publisher. A private eye wouldn’t have that kind of pull.”

  “That makes sense,” Angelica agreed. “But suppose they do find out something that proves EM’s death was a crime and not suicide?”

  “In some places, suicide is still considered a crime.”

  “And how are you going to arrest a corpse?” Angelica asked wryly.

  “Make the heirs pay for any costs associated with investigating the death. And, of course, most religions consider suicide to be a sin.”

  “That’s an angle they may not have thought about. Did EM have strong religious convictions?”

  “Maybe. I suppose they’d have to ask her family and friends.”

  “Do you think Dori would know?”

  Tricia shrugged. “Maybe. Speaking of Dori—it seems she had quite the shopping excursion. She came back to the ship loaded down with plastic bags.”

  “I thought she was broke.”

  “That’s what that rude bookseller thought, but who knows? I don’t go around broadcasting my financial status—and neither does anyone I know.”

  Angelica sipped her drink thoughtfully. “Do you think Mr. Pilger will want to question Dori?”

  “Undoubtedly. She makes a good suspect, if only because of the way EM treated her in public.”

  “The woman had no manners—and probably no friend
s, either,” Angelica commented.

  “And yet both Dori and Cathy defended her, saying she had problems not apparent to people outside her inner circle. Then, of course, there was Grace’s assessment of her personality.”

  “Yes,” Angelica agreed. “I do try to see the good in people, but I must admit it has been a challenge when thinking of EM Barstow—and I never even had to deal with her directly.”

  “Let’s change the subject. What do you think you’d like to do tonight?” Tricia asked.

  “I believe there’s a darts tournament in the Golden Harp pub. Since the Dog-Eared Page opened, you’ve gotten very good at it. Perhaps you should enter.”

  “I’ve been lucky,” Tricia agreed, “but I have a feeling that the competition on board could be too fierce. I prefer to play for fun.”

  “We could go watch and maybe have another martini.”

  Tricia smiled. “Maybe.” She looked up and saw the ship’s entertainment director standing in the aisle outside the bar, speaking with another crew member. “Oh, look. There’s Millicent Ambrose. I’ve been trying to catch up with her.” Tricia set her glass down on the table and rose from her seat. She walked purposefully toward the entertainment director, who noticed her approach and quickly dismissed her colleague.

  “Hello, Millicent. I’m sorry to interrupt,” Tricia began.

  “Not at all. How can I help you?”

  “I don’t know if you remember me. Tricia Miles.” Tricia extended her hand.

  “Very nice to bump into you again,” Millicent said, but it was obvious she had no recollection.

  “I understand you interviewed EM Barstow before her death.”

  “Yes, we ran it yesterday.”

  “There was so much going on that day. I’m sorry I missed it. Is there a chance it’ll be shown again before the ship returns to New York?”

  “Yes, but not until Friday, I’m currently working on a new introduction and then a tribute. Being at sea, it’s been difficult getting biographical information and testimonials.”

  “Oh? But her editor and assistant are both on board.”

  “Really? I’d love to speak with them; perhaps film additional interviews.”

  Tricia gave Millicent Dori’s and Cathy’s names, but didn’t think it was wise to mention that Cathy was sitting mere feet from them.