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  Sure enough, the gate had opened, and a horde of people lurched forward, dragging their luggage. EM Barstow was not among them. She took a recently vacated seat and, as her expression revealed, fumed.

  It didn’t take long before the Stoneham group was called, and everyone proceeded through the gate in an orderly fashion. As head of the Chamber, Angelica went to the back of the line, clucking reassurances to her charges like a mother hen. Tricia hung back, too. After all, they were sharing a stateroom; they might as well find it together.

  Once issued their identification keycards, they passed through security, followed the stragglers, and boarded the magnificent ship. Already the sky was black, and a brisk wind whistled around the gangplank. “I hope we won’t have rough seas,” Angelica muttered.

  “Do you get seasick?” Tricia asked.

  “Heavens, no—I just don’t want to fall off my heels.”

  “I should think you’d be ready to take them off.”

  “I am. But once we’re settled, we’re finding a nice, quiet bar. I have earned my martini—or two—for the day.”

  “I’ll be happy to join you,” Tricia agreed.

  A uniformed woman stood at the bank of elevators, advising cruisers how to find their staterooms. She glanced at Angelica’s paperwork. “You’re on Deck 7.” She signaled to a woman in a drab black uniform. “Will you please show these ladies to their stateroom?”

  The young woman nodded and reached for Angelica’s large case. “If you’ll follow me.”

  “Thank you,” Angelica said, and smiled.

  They piled into the elevator with what seemed like far too many other people and had to jump out for the first several decks until they reached their own. A handy plaque directed them to the left. They halted in front of a door marked 7150. The uniformed woman stepped forward to open the door, but Angelica waved her away. “We can take it from here.”

  “I’d be very happy to help you unpack.”

  “No need. Thank you very much.”

  The young woman nodded and backed away, then turned to leave.

  “Shouldn’t you have tipped her?” Tricia asked.

  “How long has it been since you were on a cruise?”

  “Years.”

  “She’ll be handsomely tipped—it’ll be included on our final, itemized bill. We’ll also tip our own butler at the end of the trip.”

  “We get a butler?”

  “Just one of the perks.”

  Angelica turned for the door and slipped her ID card into the slot, and the door opened. As it did, the lights came on inside.

  “Oh, my,” Tricia cried as she took in the cabin’s interior.

  “I was ready to jump out of my skin thinking someone would spoil my surprise,” Angelica cried.

  “I’m surprised, all right,” Tricia said, breathless, taking in the opulent stateroom. No, not a stateroom at all; a suite of elegant rooms. “Ange, how can you afford—”

  “Honey, I’m rich,” she said, and somehow it didn’t even seem like she was bragging. “I work hard. We both do. And who are we going to leave our money to, except each other? And Antonio, Ginny, and Sofia,” she quickly amended. “I’m paying for their suite, too.”

  “They’ve got a suite?” Tricia asked.

  “Not as nice as ours, but the baby will have her own room so they can have some alone time.” She smirked. “We can spend time together, but have our own spaces, too, in case . . .” She waggled her eyebrows. Tricia knew what she meant, but she hadn’t come on the cruise looking for love. Although her heart was broken when her ex-husband, Christopher, had died the previous summer, she wasn’t interested in having a fling, either. Tricia wasn’t so sure about Angelica.

  “Let’s get inside. My feet are killing me!” Angelica cried.

  They struggled with the luggage, pulling it inside the door, tossed their coats and purses aside, and then flopped onto matching leather loveseats that faced each other. Both sisters kicked off their shoes.

  “Isn’t room service included in the price of the cruise?” Tricia asked. “We could order a couple of martinis.”

  “Yes, but I don’t think it can happen until after the lifeboat drill. I’m sure we’ll be hearing an announcement about it anytime now. And honestly, aren’t you eager to explore the ship?”

  “Yes, but you’ll need more sensible shoes.” She looked around the lounge and sat up straighter upon spying a magnificent cut glass vase filled with a dozen red roses, along with a sweating champagne bucket with a green bottle and gold foil-tipped top jutting out at a jaunty angle.

  “Who sent the flowers and the wine?” Tricia asked.

  Angelica crossed the room and checked the cards that accompanied them. “The cruise line. And why not? Ours is the most expensive suite on the entire ship. They aim to please—and I must say, I am pleased.” She inhaled the scent of the roses. “What do you want to do first?”

  “We could pop open a bottle of the bubbly while we wait,” Tricia suggested.

  “Why not?” Angelica asked, and looked down at the table. “Oohhh! Hors d’oeuvres.”

  Tricia joined her, her eyes widening at the sight. Eight beautiful and delicate morsels, two each of four different kinds, graced a paper doily on a plate, which was covered by a plastic dome. Tricia suspected it was pink-tinged cream cheese that had been piped onto slices of baguette. She spied what looked like smoked salmon topped with capers, some kind of cheese sat on crackers, and the last two appetizers had pâté mounded high on yet more baguette. Tricia picked one up and sampled it while Angelica removed the foil from the bottle. “Oh my God, that’s good.”

  The cork went pop! and Angelica poured the fizz into the flutes, then offered one to Tricia. “This is going to be a fabulous vacation. We are going to have a fabulous time. We are going to relax, and eat, and not worry about gaining weight—not that you ever need to,” she said as an aside, “and have the time of our lives.”

  They clinked glasses and drank.

  Tricia thought of this vacation as a fresh start. A way of putting the hurt aside after the death of her ex-husband. She intended to do just as Angelica said: to relax and read and read and read.

  Nothing was going to spoil her vacation.

  Nothing.

  TWO

  After the lifeboat drill, the ship finally left port, and Tricia and Angelica returned to their suite to meet their butler, Sebastian. The older gentleman spoke with a proper English accent and insisted on unpacking for them. But first, he poured more wine. The sisters bundled up and stood on the suite’s balcony, sipping champagne and watching the lights of New Jersey slip by the starboard side of the ship as they waved and toasted the lady in the harbor. It was like being in an old Fred Astaire film—only in color! Too soon, it was time to dress for dinner, and poor Angelica never did get her cocktail. But somehow they managed to meet Antonio and Ginny at their cabin only five minutes late.

  Antonio answered the door to their knock. “There you are,” he said, smiling.

  “Here we are,” Tricia agreed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  “Ginny is almost ready. Come in, come in,” Antonio said, and ushered the sisters in.

  “What a pretty suite,” Tricia said. It was very like the one she and Angelica shared, but only half the size.

  “You just missed Mr. Everett,” Antonio said.

  “Oh?” Angelica asked.

  Antonio nodded. “He gave his regrets that he and his lovely wife would not be joining us for dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, dear. Are they okay?”

  “Just tired from a long day.”

  “Then it’s better they rest up today so they can jump into all the fun tomorrow,” Angelica said.

  “Are they ordering room service?” Tricia asked.

  “Yes. Mr. E said they would find us tomorrow and promi
sed to join us for dinner, as well.”

  “Good.”

  Ginny emerged from the smaller of the two bedrooms and quietly closed the door. “Sofia is asleep at last.”

  A knock on the door drew their attention. Antonio answered it.

  “Mr. Barbero? I’m Elena Gutiérrez. One of the ship’s nannies. I’ll be sitting with Sofia this evening.”

  Antonio ushered her in. She showed him her credentials, and Ginny went over a very long list of instructions before Antonio practically had to drag her out of the stateroom.

  “We will see you in an hour or so,” Antonio called to Elena, firmly shutting the door behind them.

  “I’m sorry I delayed us. But after all, I don’t know the ship’s nannies,” Ginny said with concern. She walked in front of Tricia and Angelica in the narrow corridor, heading for the elevator—oops, lift, Tricia reminded herself. After all, this was an Irish ship.

  “Ah, but darling girl, they do this on a regular basis. And we are only going to the restaurant. We can be paged in an instant,” Antonio promised, and Tricia never tired of hearing the lilt of his slight Italian accent.

  “Ginny, dear, relax. Sofia was asleep when we left. I’m sure she’ll still be sound asleep when we return. That’s why I booked us for the later seating,” Angelica said. But that night, it seemed everyone would be eating at the same time. “Perhaps you can request Elena as your nanny for the rest of the trip, then you won’t have to worry about a stranger sitting with her every time.”

  “Good idea. I’ll look into it tomorrow.”

  The dress code for the first evening’s meal was smart casual, and they’d chosen their attire accordingly. Angelica had sprung for a tuxedo for Antonio and was looking forward to seeing him in it. The last time he’d worn one was at his wedding to Ginny, but the handsome young man was born for formal dress. Ginny had protested when Angelica had offered to take her on a trip to Boston to buy a new wardrobe for their Irish-inspired holiday, but she’d eventually given in, and the three of them had taken time off from work to make a weekend of it. Although Ginny and Angelica had gotten off to a rough start some six years before, which was, admittedly, Tricia’s fault, they’d actually bonded as in-laws.

  The group paused at the hostess stand at the posh Kells Grill, several price ranges above the restaurant where the rest of the Stoneham Chamber cruisers were assigned for their meals. The dining room seated no more than twenty, but they had reserved seats and were escorted to their table beside a large window that overlooked the Promenade Deck below and the black ocean beyond.

  Antonio held out chairs for all of them before taking a seat himself.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentleman,” said a tall, thin waiter dressed in a black tux. His accent wasn’t Irish, as they might have expected, but Italian. “I am Cristophano and I will be taking care of you during our most excellent journey.”

  Cristophano. Christopher. The name made Tricia’s heart ache, and Angelica reached for her hand under the table, squeezing it and giving her an encouraging smile, which she appreciated.

  “Dove in Italia sei?” Antonio asked.

  “Firenze, signore,” the waiter answered.

  “Anch’io,” Antonio said, and laughed.

  “What?” Ginny asked, puzzled.

  Angelica smiled. “He asked if the waiter was from Italy. He answered Florence—the same as Antonio.”

  “I didn’t know you spoke Italian,” Tricia said.

  “Well, how else was I going to communicate with Antonio when he was a boy and didn’t speak English?”

  “You amaze me,” Tricia said, shaking her head.

  Cristophano presented them with genuine (not faux) leather folders that contained the engraved menu for that night’s dinner.

  “How about I order a bottle of wine for the table?” Angelica suggested.

  “That will not be necessary, madam. A bottle of our best champagne has been ordered for your group.”

  “Oh?” Angelica asked.

  “Sì.” Cristophano reached into his tux jacket and pulled out a card, handing it to Tricia. She read the beautiful script. “The best for the best.”

  “No signature?” Ginny asked.

  Tricia shook her head.

  “Ooh!” Angelica cooed. “You have a secret admirer.”

  Tricia looked up at the waiter. “Are you sure this was delivered to the right table?”

  Cristophano nodded. “You are Ms. Tricia Miles, are you not?”

  Tricia nodded. A secret admirer? Had Stoneham’s chief of police ordered the champagne in an effort to woo her back? That was a stretch, since they hadn’t been on a date in almost two years.

  “I shall return in a moment,” Cristophano said, and made a discreet exit.

  The four of them smiled at one another. “I can’t believe we’re here—on such a beautiful ship,” Ginny said, and giggled.

  “How do you like your stateroom?” Angelica asked.

  “Perfect. Oh, Angelica, I can’t thank you enough for—”

  But Angelica held up a hand to stop her gushing. “The rest of our little group doesn’t have to be in on our secret, but we are family. A dynasty, I hope. And we will all look after each other in the years to come.” Ginny blinked and Angelica laughed. “That wasn’t a threat. You won’t have to push me in a wheelchair when I’m old and gray. I just meant that if one of us lives well, why shouldn’t we all live well?” She looked around for Cristophano. “I wish we had that champagne and we could all toast the sentiment.”

  Ginny frowned. “Aren’t the others in our group going to be miffed when they see we have better accommodations than them?”

  “I don’t see why. Everyone had the option of picking their own price point for the cruise. Mindy did tell me that most of the group are in inside staterooms—no windows, no balconies—but our fellow travelers made that decision—not us—and we will not feel guilty.” It sounded like an order.

  They opened their folders to peruse the menus. Tricia studied the à la carte offerings and was considering whether she should celebrate and have the lobster Newburg with truffle-scented rice pilaf or the beef Wellington when a commotion at a table several feet away drew her attention. She looked up to see EM Barstow dressed in a riotous red and gold silk caftan that more resembled a circus tent than smart casual attire.

  “This table isn’t at all acceptable. It’s too close to the door. There’s a draft.”

  “Emmie,” her companion pleaded, sounding embarrassed. “I’m sure it’s perfectly fine.”

  “And I’m sure it’s not!” EM declared, and didn’t seem to care that her voice was carrying throughout the dining room. “This trip is costing a fortune and I want the best of the best. I demand a table with a window, and if I don’t get it—”

  Ginny glowered. “It’s that disagreeable woman—again! Doesn’t she ever shut up?”

  “Not in my experience,” Tricia said.

  Cristophano arrived with another waiter, and while the newcomer set up the gleaming champagne bucket next to Antonio, Cristophano placed champagne flutes in front of each of them. “May I pour?” he asked Tricia, showing her the bottle.

  “Dom Pérignon!” Ginny exclaimed. “Someone sure thinks you’re hot stuff.”

  Tricia felt her cheeks grow warm with a blush. She spoke to the waiter. “Yes, please pour.”

  Nearby, EM and her companion were escorted to another table, and peace descended on the room once again.

  Tricia sampled the champagne, giving it an approving nod, and Cristophano filled the rest of their glasses.

  “May I take your orders now?” Cristophano asked.

  “I think we’ll just enjoy the champagne for a few minutes. Perhaps you could give us five or ten minutes,” Angelica suggested.

  “Very good, madam,” he said with a curt nod.

 
; Tricia almost expected the man to click his heels as he turned away. She turned to Ginny. “What looks good to you on the menu?”

  “I was thinking about—”

  “What do you mean the champagne isn’t complimentary?” EM Barstow demanded of her server. “That table has free champagne.”

  Angelica rolled her eyes, swirled the contents of her glass, and took a healthy gulp. “Great stuff.”

  EM continued her loud, sour rant for another minute or two while her red-faced dining companion silently stared at the napkin draped across her lap.

  “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll try one of the other restaurant options,” Antonio suggested hopefully.

  “I’m game,” Tricia agreed.

  “Me, too,” Ginny said.

  “Why don’t we talk about something else?” Angelica suggested. “Has anyone seen the list of authors who are on board and giving presentations?”

  “There’s a chef from the Good Food Channel. Larry what’s his face,” Ginny said. “I think he’s going to give a couple of demonstrations, too.”

  “I’ve watched Larry Andrews on TV dozens of times; he’s wonderful,” Angelica agreed. “Seeing him cook in person would be heavenly.”

  “Nikki Brimfield-Smith’s mother—that cozy mystery author—is supposed to be on board, too,” Ginny said.

  “Oh, yes, Fiona Sample,” Tricia said. “I’d almost forgotten. It’s too bad Nikki and Russ couldn’t have afforded to come on the trip. It would have been lovely for Nikki and her mom to spend some quality time together.”

  “Nikki said her mother was going to detour to Stoneham to see her grandson after the trip,” Ginny said.

  “How nice,” Angelica said.

  “While we gush over authors, what do you intend to do, Antonio?” Tricia asked.

  “I will relax with my bambina. I will read. And I will think about where Nigela Ricita Associates can expand its holdings in southern New Hampshire.”

  “You’re supposed to be on vacation,” Tricia chided him.

  “Working with my employer is such a joy, I consider it an honor,” Antonio said, giving Angelica a wink.

  Tricia saw one of the leather menu folders go sailing through the air and hit the floor behind Angelica’s chair.