Title Wave Read online

  “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 really 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.

  The Grand Lobby was elegant, with polished chocolate marble floors and a magnificent mahogany staircase that soared three levels high, with a sparkling chandelier twinkling above. Scattered around the area were a number of tables, chairs, and plush loveseats—and like in the Garden Lounge, all of them were occupied. Tricia mounted the stairs and ascended to Deck 2 only to find that the Portside Bar and the lower level of the ship’s library were also overflowing with passengers who’d been driven inside by the weather. Turning right, she headed down the corridor, stopping to admire some of the paintings on display, before she headed on toward the Crystal Ballroom. Many of its tables and chairs were occupied by people like her who’d sought a quiet sanctuary. This would do. The only conversations she heard were whispered as she crossed the expansive ballroom, settling on the port side next to a large expanse of window that was no more than ten or twelve feet above the roiling sea. She sat there for a good five or ten minutes, just watching the ocean’s fury. Oddly enough, she felt at peace. Still, after a time, she turned her chair inward toward the tranquil room and consulted her book. She had plenty of time before the editors’ panel would take place in the ship’s theater. That was something she didn’t want to miss.

  She’d read for fifteen or twenty minutes before she looked up to see Harold Pilger sitting alone at one of the ballroom’s tables on the other side of the deck. Closing her book, Tricia gathered her things, rose, and crossed the ballroom and the aisle beyond.

  Pilger’s gaze was fixed on the ocean rushing by outside the large droplet-spattered window. A yellow legal pad sat before him on the table, along with a pen. Several pages had been folded under the pad, but it looked like he’d paused to compose his thoughts.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Tricia said.

  He looked up. “Oh, hello.”

  “How are you enjoying your trip, Mr. Pilger?”

  “Call me Harold. I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Tricia Miles. Were you waiting for someone?”

  “No. Just sitting here jotting down some thoughts.”

  “May I join you?”

  He stood. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Please sit.”

  Tricia took the chair across from him at the small table, and Pilger turned the pad over. Rats! She couldn’t get a peek.

  “To answer your question, yes. I’m enjoying the trip so far, although it’s a bit of a working vacation.”

  “Oh?” Tricia asked, glad she hadn’t had to push to get him to open up. That is, if he was about to open up. He might be willing to do so, if she first made a confession.

  “Mr. Pilger—”

  “Harold,” he insisted.

  Tricia smiled. “Harold. I think you should know that it was me who found EM hanging in her stateroom bathroom.”

  Pilger’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. “I take it ship’s security didn’t mention my name.”

  “No. Thank you for coming forward to speak with me.”

  “As Cathy told you, I’m a bookseller. I specialize in vintage mysteries—but I’m also well acquainted with the work of most contemporary mystery authors as well. And, I’ve read a lot of true crime accounts.” He nodded. “So, I thought you might be interested in what I saw the night of EM’s death.”

  “Very much,” he admitted. “I take it you don’t believe her death was suicide.”

  “No. Did they let you see the body?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “I noticed there was an abrasion on the underside of her chin. As though she’d been dragged across the carpet in her stateroom. Also, her keycard was missing. I had to put mine into the slot in order for the lights to come on. I doubt she could have hanged herself in pitch blackness.”

  He nodded, listening intently. “Anything else?”

  “I saw no sign of her laptop computer. I never saw her without it.”

  “Yes. It’s missing,” he confirmed.

  “I thought perhaps you came on board to try to ascertain whether her death was suicide or murder.”

  “She was heavily insured,” Pilger admitted. “Fidelity Mutual of Connecticut will not pay out for a suicide. Therefore, anything I can do to prove EM was murdered will benefit my employer.”

  Tricia nodded. “EM’s stateroom keycard was recovered the morning after her death,” Tricia began, but didn’t go into details about where and when. “I don’t know if someone on board had used it to buy goods or drinks. If so, I’m sure ship’s security could check video to find out who did.”

  “I’ll be speaking to Officer McDonald again later this afternoon. I’ll be sure to ask.”

  “Have you spoken with Dori Douglas, EM’s fan club president?”

  “Yes. She very graciously offered to help us in any way she could.”

  “It was EM who introduced me to her editor, Cathy Copper. Was she the last one to speak to EM before her death?”

  “I don’t believe so. Ms. Douglas told me she’d spoken to EM before retiring on Monday evening. We believe she was the last to see Ms. Barstow alive.”

  “Has Officer McDonald corroborated that?”

  Pilger frowned. “He hasn’t been forthcoming with much that can help me determine what actually happened. I suppose I’ll be trading letters with the cruise line’s lawyers to get what little information they’d be willing to share.”

  “It’s too bad. Their first priority should be finding out the truth—even if it would be inconvenient for them to admit a crime was committed.”

  Pilger nodded.

  “Harold, did you know the ship has hundreds of cameras monitoring the public areas twenty-four/seven?”

  “So I noticed,” Pilger said, and nodded toward one of the Plexiglas domes that hid a camera on the ceiling not far from them.

  “I wonder if we could persuade Officer McDonald to let us review the video from those cameras.”

  “Do you think they’d still retain those images after so many days?”

  “It couldn’t hurt to ask.”

  Pilger eyed Tricia suspiciously. “And what do you get out of it if we uncover the truth about EM’s death?”

  “Nothing more than personal satisfaction. I have no literary aspirations. I wouldn’t write a tell-all exposé for the tabloids. But I’d feel I was doing a service to EM’s legions of fans who will want to know the truth about her death. You might be surprised, but fans of her writing will not only grieve for the loss of their favorite author, but for the loss of her characters, as well.”

  “Do you feel that way about Agatha Christie?”

  “I was just a little girl when she died, but I often wonder what else she might have written had she lived another one, five, or even ten years more.”

  Pilger nodded. “I understand.”

  “Are you a mystery reader, Harold?”

  The lawyer shook his head. “I deal in facts. I read true crime because I prefer operating in the real world. I have no affection for fiction.”

  “That’s too bad,” Tricia said. The man had no clue. According to George R. R. Martin, “A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, the man who never reads lives only one.” Tricia believed it heart and soul. She was way beyond that thousand-life threshold. Still, the two of them did have a common goal: to find out the truth behind EM Barstow’s death.

  “Are you willing to approach Officer McDonald about reviewing those ship’s video logs?”

  “Yes. And the sooner, the better.”

  Tricia nodded. “He seems to work erratic hours, but
we could at least approach the ship’s security team.”

  Pilger picked up his legal pad and pocketed his pen. “I should go now. There are probably hundreds of hours of video to review. The sooner I start, the sooner I’m done.”

  Tricia pushed back her chair and rose.

  Pilger stood, too. “Ms. Miles—Tricia,” he amended. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to accompany me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m on board in an official capacity, and you’re—”

  “Just a wannabe sleuth?” she offered. He hadn’t minded her telling him things about EM’s death that he hadn’t known. Was he afraid that she—a lowly retailer—might come across yet more pieces of information that could be used to prove his theory and look more knowledgeable—and capable—than someone who’d passed the New York bar?

  “Well,” he began, but didn’t seem to have a placating comeback.

  “I completely understand,” Tricia said. And how. She forced a smile. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other before we dock in New York. Good luck with your investigation.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for understanding.”

  Again Tricia forced a smile. “Have a nice day.”

  “You, too.”

  Tricia strode off, unwilling to resume her seat across the way. She’d find somewhere else to pass the time until the editors’ panel, which was still a good two hours off. And maybe she’d count the minutes until this far-from-pleasurable cruise was to end.

  NINETEEN

  Tricia found a quiet niche in the Wee Dram bar and read for more than an hour before she thought to look up and note the time. Good grief! It was already five after one. She’d told Angelica she’d meet her at the Lido Restaurant at one o’clock.

  Once again Tricia gathered up her things and this time hurried to the nearest bank of lifts. Two minutes later, she entered the busy restaurant, walking its length until she spotted a table for six with a high chair squeezed in.

  “There you are,” Angelica scolded, but she sounded more relieved than annoyed.

  Tricia took the only empty seat, next to Grace. “Sorry I’m late. I’ve been reading.”