Title Wave Page 23

“Oh, yes,” Angelica said, grinning.

  “What is it this time?”

  “Looks like jewelry.”

  “You didn’t open it?”

  “My name is not on the card,” Angelica pointed out. “The wrapping paper is from one of the arcade’s shops. I’m going to guess it’s a necklace. Or perhaps a pin.”

  “I wish you’d brought it with you—then there’d be no suspense.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Angelica began, and then opened her purse. She withdrew the little package.

  “I should have known,” Tricia said, and sighed.

  “Open it, open it!” Angelica encouraged.

  “This time there’s a card,” Tricia said, and worked at the envelope’s seal. The card within was printed, as though by a computer. “To remember your Irish cruise.”

  “Get to the good stuff,” Angelica pressed.

  Tricia worked her thumbnail under the tape on the end of the square box and unwrapped it. Removing the lid, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “What is it?” Angelica demanded.

  Tricia turned the box so that Angelica could see the silver Celtic knot pendant on a chain.

  “Oh. That’s nice,” Angelica said, obviously disappointed.

  “It is nice.”

  “I saw the same one—and maybe that’s it, for all I know—for about thirty dollars. I guess your secret admirer doesn’t have a lot of cash lying around.”

  “I think it’s pretty.”

  “You’re not creeped out about getting it?”

  “Well, a little,” Tricia admitted. “I wonder if I should wear it. If I do, maybe whoever sent it will see it and finally come talk to me. I’d much rather know who’s behind all these little gifts than to have it hanging over me. I mean, what if it doesn’t stop when we go home?”

  “Do you want me to fasten it for you?”

  “I can do it,” Tricia said, removing the necklace from the box and putting it around her neck. It looked pretty and stood out well against her black sweater set.

  The waitress arrived with the drinks and a silver bowl filled with potato chips, giving Angelica back her keycard and the receipt, which she signed. “Pretty necklace.”

  “Thank you. Would you mind disposing of the box and wrapping, please?”

  “Not at all,” she said, scooping it up and setting it on her tray. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Angelica said. She picked up her drink, removing the sliced lemon from the rim and squeezing it into the tonic. She took a sip. “Different than with a lime, but I could get used to it.”

  Tricia sipped her own drink. Not bad. “Has the gang made dinner plans?”

  “Because of the dance competition, we thought it best not to have dinner at the Kells Grill. We’d probably miss the first hour. But it is formal dress tonight. We’ll just have to have an early dinner at one of the other on-board restaurants and then get ready for the floor show.”

  “I rather like the Lido Restaurant,” Tricia said. “I like the whole smorgasbord presentation. It reminds me of being back in college.” Although that thought brought Cathy Copper back to mind, and Tricia really didn’t want to go there yet again.

  “We should have tried one of the other on-board restaurants.”

  “You mean where you pay extra for some exotic cuisine?”

  “We can afford it.”

  “I know; but it’s just such a bother.”

  “Tonight is our last chance to dress to the nines. It’ll be casual the night before we dock,” Angelica lamented.

  “I brought way too many formal outfits. I’ll probably never have an opportunity to wear them again, either. At least, not in Stoneham.”

  “We could go on another cruise,” Angelica suggested, sounding hopeful.

  “Maybe.”

  Tricia sipped her drink.

  Out in the corridor, Arnold Smith rode past the bar on his motorized scooter. What an odd duck, Tricia thought. Despite the fact that so many of the authors—and his fellow readers—seemed to know him, he appeared to be without comrades. Still, from what she’d seen of the man, Tricia didn’t feel inclined to offer him the hand of friendship and ask him to join her and Angelica. From what she’d observed, he wasn’t at all a nice man and seemed intent on pushing boundaries—and making a pest of himself at the same time.

  Was he just a loser, or should she pity such a man who obviously lacked polish? Perhaps that’s why he’d stalked EM Barstow. Could he have recognized her as a kindred spirit and her rejection of him forced him into rescuing his bruised ego by asserting his own warped sense of authority? He certainly seemed to enjoy bullying the authors, who were polite, and probably afraid to court his wrath and to challenge even more abhorrent behavior.

  After all, he might just be a murderer.

  Tricia frowned, reaching for a handful of crisps. But that didn’t make sense. The man had health issues; perhaps a bad back or a weak heart that had forced him to use a scooter rather than walk. There was no way he could have pulled EM across her cabin’s carpet and then strung her up in the shower. No way. But somehow Tricia wasn’t sure about the guy. If he was adept at stalking, who knew what else he was capable of?

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Angelica said.

  “Just thinking,” Tricia said, and munched another chip.

  “Of what?”

  “Of who could have killed EM.”

  Angelica pouted. “You’re not going to start that again, are you?”

  “It was just a passing thought.” Or two. Or four. Oh, hell—many thoughts. She reached for another handful of crisps but found the bowl conspicuously empty. Did the ship’s stores include flavored crisps? Barbecue? Sour cream and chives? Salt and vinegar? Pickle?

  “That’s a quizzical expression you’re sporting,” Angelica commented. “Now what are you thinking of?”

  “Nothing important.”

  The already dark sky outside the rain-splattered windows seemed to be growing a deeper shade of gray by the moment. “It’ll still be winter when we get home the day after tomorrow,” Tricia said.

  “I don’t know about you, but I feel revitalized by this trip; eager to take on new, challenging projects. Don’t you feel that way, too?”

  There were many projects to tackle, but Tricia wasn’t sure she felt invigorated by travel. More weary, actually. But that wasn’t what Angelica wanted to hear. Christopher would still be gone, there was a lot of work ahead with the reconfiguration of her home—while trying to keep her business open. Oh, what a mess. And yet Angelica was right. The year ahead would be challenging—perhaps even life changing—but she decided right there and then that she would look at it as a positive. There’d been too much negativity in her life.

  She looked down at the pendant that rested on her chest. It was pretty. Someone had put some thought into the gifts she’d received while on this trip. She decided that unless someone showed up demanding her attention, she would look at the presents for what they were: an appreciation. Because if she thought about each and every one of them, they were tailored to her likes. Then again, there’d been that box of candy. She hadn’t been known for having a sweet tooth. Otherwise, the gifts had been trinkets from someone who knew her well.

  Tricia looked over the rim of her glass, her gaze falling on Angelica’s face. Good grief! Could Angelica be her secret admirer? She’d known Tricia suffered from depression since Christopher’s death. She’d really pushed to get Tricia to sign up for the cruise. Had she sent the gifts before their stop in Bermuda as a setup to misdirect Tricia from considering the fact that she’d be confronting their mother? Angelica had certainly been nervous about the reunion.

  Yes! The gifts could be viewed as a diversion. And today’s pendant was yet another feel-good Band-Aid to help heal her wounded heart.

 
It certainly couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “My liquor level has plunged,” Angelica remarked, eyeing the ice and nothing more in her glass. “Shall we go for another round?”

  “Yes. Why not? But this time it’s on me.”

  “That sounds fine.” Angelica raised her right hand into the air, waving to get the waitress’s attention.

  They reordered and the waitress retreated before Tricia decided to test her theory. “I’ve been thinking . . .”

  “Well, that was obvious.”

  “About these gifts,” Tricia continued, and fingered the chain that hung from her neck.

  “And?” Angelica asked.

  “It’s obvious whoever sent them knows me well.”

  “I’d say so.”

  “And is probably on this trip.”

  “Possibly.” Was Angelica hedging?

  “I think if there was malice attached to them—that the giver wanted something in return—he or she would have tried to corner me by now.”

  “Again, a possibility,” Angelica acknowledged. “It sounds like you’re about to make a pronouncement. Who? Who do you think it is?”

  “Well, how about you?”

  “Me?” Angelica asked, surprised.

  “Yes, you.”

  “But why would I do that?”

  “To cheer me up.”

  Angelica seemed to think about it for a moment. “You’re right. It would be in character for me to perform such a generous act. I’m only sorry that I didn’t think of it first.”

  “So, it’s not you?” Tricia asked, disappointed.

  Angelica shook her head. “Sorry. But think about it. I would have never sent you that box of chocolates.”

  “You’re right. That was the only miss among the hits. Oh, well. I guess I’m back to square one, then.”

  “Sorry,” Angelica apologized.

  Tricia sipped her drink. “Did we decide about dinner?”

  “No, but we’re going to rendezvous at the Crystal Ballroom with the others for the dance contest, so I guess we’re on our own.”

  “The Lido?” Tricia suggested.

  “The Lido it is. Drink up. After we eat, we’re going to have to change. I’m sure everyone will be dressed to kill, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  The whole idea of a dance-off seemed a bit silly to Tricia, but she had promised Mary she’d try to attend, and really, she didn’t have anything better to do but read . . . and, oh, how she wanted to do just that.

  She picked up her glass and drank the remnants. She eyed Angelica over the rim. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Tricia looked at herself in the mirror and wasn’t displeased with what she saw. She’d bought the new cocktail dress during the shopping trip to Boston she, Ginny, and Angelica had made before the cruise, although she hadn’t been entirely sure she’d get the chance to wear it. The bodice of the little black dress bore sequins, and the jacket was tailored, giving the illusion that she was taller than her five-foot-seven-inch frame. She’d condescended to buy a pair of low heels instead of her usual flats, but she knew Angelica, in stilettos, would still tower over her. How she could wear those shoes that not only threatened her Achilles tendons, but conspired to topple her, remained a mystery to Tricia.

  She left her bedroom and switched off the lights. The door to Angelica’s side of the suite was open, and Tricia found her sister in the bathroom touching up her makeup. “Almost ready?”

  Angelica whisked the blush brush across her cheeks one more time, then inspected her lipstick, which was perfect. “I am now. Isn’t this going to be fun?”

  “I don’t know about fun, but I hope Mary at least places.”

  “She doesn’t honestly think she can win, does she?” Angelica said, shooing Tricia into the lounge and turning off the light behind her.

  “She said she felt confident.”

  “Well, then let’s hope she does. It sure can’t hurt to have the entire Stoneham contingent rooting from the sidelines.”

  The sisters gathered up their purses, making sure their keycards were inside, and left the suite. As usual, the corridors seemed curiously empty until they came closer to the lifts, where a small crowd was waiting. In no time, the doors opened and they all crowded inside. The button was already pressed for Deck 2. It looked like the dance competition was the big draw that evening.

  Tricia and Angelica followed the crowd to the Crystal Ballroom and were surprised to find a packed house. “Oh, dear. Where will we sit?” Angelica asked, looking around, but then Tricia saw Mr. Everett standing at a ringside table for six on the far side of the room, waving.

  “It’s good to have friends in high places,” Tricia said, and nudged Angelica to follow.

  Mr. Everett was decked out in a dark suit with a sedate maroon tie, while Grace was dressed to the max in a navy sequined full-length gown. “Oh, Grace, you look gorgeous,” Angelica said.

  “I haven’t been this dressed up in ages,” she said, and actually giggled.

  “You look very handsome, too, Mr. Everett,” Tricia said as she sat, and Mr. Everett pushed in her chair, then did the same for Angelica.

  “Thank you.”

  Just then, a waiter in a white tuxedo arrived with a champagne bucket and bottle of bubbly. “Oh, this is a nice surprise,” Angelica said.

  “I thought it might be nice to toast to Mary’s success,” Grace said.

  The waiter poured a smidgeon for Grace to taste; she approved the selection, and the waiter poured for the four of them. “To Mary.” They raised their flutes.

  “To Mary,” Tricia and Angelica said.

  “To Ms. Fairchild,” Mr. Everett chimed in.

  They drank. Angelica was the first to speak again. “I’m surprised to see such a big turnout. I mean, I knew ballroom dancing TV shows were big, but didn’t realize they had such broad appeal.”

  “The Brits have had ballroom dance shows for ages. It never went out of fashion there,” Grace pointed out. “And the Irish are spectacular dancers, too.”

  “I take it Antonio and Ginny will be arriving soon?” Angelica asked.

  “There was some talk about them not getting a babysitter,” Grace said. “Perhaps one of them will come.”

  “Ginny didn’t sound too enthused when she mentioned it yesterday,” Tricia said.

  “Oh, dear,” Angelica said, sounding disappointed.

  And then, as if she’d wished on a star, Antonio appeared, resplendent in his black tuxedo. For a moment, Tricia wasn’t sure if her sister might combust from the fierce look of maternal pride that seemed to radiate from her. “Sit by me, sit by me,” Angelica encouraged Antonio.

  “Why of course, dear lady,” Antonio said as Tricia moved to the next seat to accommodate them.

  “No babysitter?” Tricia asked.

  “Ginny is content to spend the evening with a good book—one she bought at the author signing the other day. What have I missed?”

  “Nothing so far,” Tricia assured him as Mr. Everett leaned over to pour him a glass of champagne.

  “I was concerned I’d miss the beginning of the competition,” Antonio said, consulting his watch. “They must be running late.”

  From across the room, Tricia saw that EM’s publisher’s lawyer, Harold Pilger, stood in the aisle at the far end of the ballroom. He seemed to be scanning the plethora of tables that ringed the dance floor in horseshoe fashion, finding no openings. He caught her eye and waved. Oh no, she thought as Pilger wasted no time and charged forward, dodging around the tables until he made his way to where Tricia sat.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  “Well—”

  “No,” Angelica said affably. “Please join us.”

  Pilger sat next to Tricia, giving her a thankful smile. She made the introduct
ions as a string of well-dressed men and women emerged from the side of the stage. Each of the men had a cardboard placard hanging on his back with large black numbers against a stark white background. Mary and her partner, Ed, the retired shoe salesman, were number fifty-seven, although there couldn’t have been more than twenty couples on the dance floor and lined up at the side of the room.

  Millicent Ambrose stepped onto the small dais, moving to stand next to a microphone stand. She looked elegant in a white sheath with a bolero jacket piped in navy blue, giving her a nautical flair. Trailing behind her were three other people, one of whom was author Diana Lovell, who waved to her blog sisters who occupied another of the ringside seats. One of the other judges was Cathy Copper, followed by a man Tricia didn’t know. Why would Cathy be judging a dance contest, especially after making such rude comments about those who took lessons? Although Tricia had to admit she didn’t exactly seem thrilled to be there. Had Millicent cornered her and gotten her to agree during a moment of weakness?

  Tricia watched as the judges sat on chairs behind a draped table with placards giving their names. Meanwhile, a combo began assembling on the other side of the stage, consisting of a sax player, a guy with an electric guitar, a fellow with a stand-up base, and a drummer. All were dressed in black tuxes, looking dapper. On the sidelines were several still and video photographers. No doubt a professional DVD of the event would be available for purchase come morning.

  Millicent tested the microphone, then addressed the crowd.

  “Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Celtic Lady’s Dance Challenges. Our judges this evening are author Diana Lovell, celebrity chef Larry Andrews, and editor Cathy Copper. Let’s give them a warm round of applause.”

  The audience did just that.

  “And let’s not forget the wonderful Jerry Hammond Combo.”

  More applause followed as the band members took a bow.

  “We’ll start out with the first heat, progressing until all contestants have had a chance to strut their stuff”—the audience roared—“and then the eliminations will begin. And now, let’s dance!”

  The lights above the audience dimmed, and the band launched into a jaunty tune with a Latin beat as the competitors began to mambo.