Title Wave Page 28

“It’s Sofia. She’s very sick. Ginny has rushed her to the ship’s medical centre. I knew you would want to be there with us.”

  “Of course I do,” Angelica said, sounding frantic.

  “I’ll come, too,” Tricia said.

  “I’m sorry, but there is limited room for visitors,” Antonio apologized.

  “That’s okay—go!”

  Angelica turned back to Tricia. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid—like confronting Cathy.”

  “Who, me?” Tricia asked, feeling panicky.

  “Yes, you!”

  There was no time to argue. “You have my word.”

  Angelica turned to Antonio. “Let’s go.”

  Antonio grabbed his stepmother’s hand and practically pulled her out of the bar.

  Tricia resumed her seat, not knowing what to do next. She’d promised Angelica she wouldn’t do anything stupid, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t do something—even if that meant simply wandering the ship’s corridors to walk off her worry about Sofia. And perhaps she should wait outside the ship’s theatre to intercept Grace and Mr. Everett to let them know about the baby. But then what could Tricia tell them? Antonio had said Sofia was sick, but sick covered a lot of territory. A fever? An infection? Convulsions? The more she speculated, the higher Tricia’s anxiety level grew.

  Tricia left the bar with no clear destination in mind—she just felt the need to move!

  The corridors were virtually empty on the final night of the cruise. Perhaps most of the passengers had left their packing until the last minute. Tricia passed the photo gallery and briefly paused to look for pictures of her little Stoneham family. The ship’s photographers had taken appointments for portraits. Why hadn’t she or Angelica insisted on having one or more of them made? What if something dreadful happened and Sofia—?

  She wouldn’t even let herself finish that terrible thought.

  Tricia continued on, charging up the forward stairs until she got to the Lido Deck, thinking she might get a cup of coffee. She’d always found comfort in a steaming cup of joe. She wanted to be clearheaded when she learned Sofia’s fate. But before she got to the restaurant, the door to the deck opened and Dori Douglas burst inside, wearing a knitted cap and a winter coat—nearly barreling into Tricia.

  “What’s wrong?” Tricia said, noting Dori’s red cheeks, which she wasn’t sure were a result of just the cold outside.

  “Nothing—nothing!” Dori shouted shrilly. “Get out of my way!”

  “What were you doing out on deck in this weather?” Tricia demanded, stepping in front of the woman so that she couldn’t escape.

  “None of your business.”

  “Were you talking to Cathy Copper?”

  Dori’s head snapped up, her eyes widening, but she didn’t reply.

  “Did you confront her—or did she confront you?”

  Dori’s eyes blazed. “That’s none of your business!”

  “You’ve got to tell the authorities what you know about EM’s death. You owe it to her!” Tricia blurted.

  “And tell them what?”

  “That she didn’t die by her own hand. That she was murdered.”

  “And how do I do that? I have no proof—and I suspect you don’t, either. If you’re smart,” Dori continued, “you’ll go lock yourself in your cabin and stay there until you’re allowed to leave the ship in the morning. That’s what I intend to do.”

  “Make sure your balcony door is locked tight, too,” Tricia warned.

  Dori’s eyes grew even wider, but not in umbrage—in pure terror. “Let me go!” she shouted, and pushed past Tricia, practically running in her haste to get away.

  If Tricia thought she’d felt panicked before, she felt totally freaked now. It seemed no one on the entire ship cared enough to see justice done. And suddenly Tricia felt like a relic. Integrity was all-important to her, even if it wasn’t to the population at large.

  She charged for the door Dori had come through and burst onto the deck. Snow fell, giving the overhead floodlights a soft glow and covering parts of the wet deck. She looked left and right but saw no one. Cathy had not come inside through the door Dori had used. Did that mean she was still on deck? If so . . .

  Tricia darted back inside, grateful for the warmth that enveloped her, but then she charged aft, almost running through the nearly empty restaurant, wondering if she might see Cathy out by the outdoor pool—and if she did, what would she do?

  Tricia exited the restaurant and entered the short corridor, which led to the glass-topped door that overlooked the deck outside. As she studied the empty expanse of teak, what she’d seen and heard for the past few days began to fall together like the pieces of a puzzle. On impulse, she pushed through the door. Again, the air was biting, the sky above a murky gray obscured by the lights that illuminated the deck.

  Tricia walked far onto the deck, hugging herself to retain her body heat. There was no sign of Cathy. She approached the rail that overlooked the black ocean behind the ship, the churned-up water leaving a frothy gray wake behind.

  “What are you doing here?” a shrill voice demanded.

  Tricia whirled and nearly slipped on the icy deck. Cathy Copper stood before her, wearing a bulky parka over dark slacks, her feet shod in black flats.

  “I came out to get a breath of fresh air,” Tricia lied. “I need to go back to my cabin now. It’s time to put out my luggage for the porters.”

  “Bullshit,” Cathy spat. “You came out here looking for me, didn’t you?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re a busybody.”

  Hadn’t Tricia accused Angelica of the same thing?”

  “I’ve spoken to a number of people in your tour group and they all said the same thing: you can’t keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Cathy said.

  Did the rest of the Stoneham passengers honestly think Tricia was a meddlesome troublemaker?

  “I don’t listen to gossip,” Tricia said loudly to be heard above the sound of the wind and the ocean waves, and started to edge away from the rail.

  “Don’t move!” Cathy ordered.

  “I’m cold! Unlike you, I don’t have a coat.”

  “I want to know what you think you know about EM Barstow’s death, Little Ms. Snoop.”

  “She’s dead and nobody cares.”

  “Nobody but you,” Cathy mocked.

  “You sure don’t.”

  “That woman wasn’t fit to breathe the same air as the rest of us.”

  “And why was that?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I’m betting it all stems back to the failed horse therapy academy.”

  Cathy’s eyes widened. Ha! Tricia had scored with that salvo.

  “You were an injured athlete who was crushed by the reality that you’d never make the Olympic team. Riding those gentle therapy horses restored your confidence—until the farm folded in bankruptcy. EM took care of the horses—but not the children who depended on them.”

  “She abandoned forty-seven of us,” Cathy said bitterly. “She never gave a damn about people. She could fake it with her writing—she was smart enough to figure that out—but she never had a genuine loving feeling for another human being.”

  “And you did?” Tricia accused.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You killed EM without a qualm, and you hoped to pin her death on poor Dori Douglas.”

  “She’s not as innocent as you might think,” Cathy grumbled.

  “Why? Because she objected to being treated like a servant while volunteering her services?”

  “Dori’s a chump.”

  “And you’re a murderer,” Tricia accused, feeling thoroughly chilled.

  Cathy’s expression hardened. “EM was working behind the scenes to get me f
ired from my job.”

  “And you were trying to take over her characters.”

  Cathy grimaced. “You’re like the rest of her sheeplike followers, thinking of those imaginary people as though they were real. EM did, too, because she didn’t have any friends—she didn’t know how to be one.”

  “But there was more to the story, wasn’t there? The horse farm went bankrupt—and you know why. I’m guessing you wouldn’t have snapped if EM hadn’t talked about it during her interview the other day.”

  Cathy’s lips pursed, and for a moment Tricia thought she might cry, but then her anger resurfaced. “EM was a vindictive woman. She took legal action, filing suits right, left, and center. She ruined my mother. EM hounded her until—”

  “Until she hung herself?”

  Cathy said nothing.

  “And that’s what you did to EM.”

  Still, Cathy said nothing. Did she know Millicent intended to flog the show to the networks? Was that why she’d decided against being interviewed?

  “How did you finagle becoming EM’s editor?”

  “It wasn’t coincidence,” Cathy bragged. “I worked harder than any of the assistants. I stood out from the rest because of that.”

  “And how did EM feel when you got the job?”

  Cathy’s face twisted into a scowl. “She didn’t even recognize my name. It wasn’t until I confronted her in her stateroom that she made the connection. Even then, she didn’t believe me.”

  The biting wind seemed to pick up. Tricia had never been so cold in all her life, and she knew that she had to get back inside before hypothermia set in. Still, she needed to know more.

  “Why did you leave the door to EM’s stateroom ajar?”

  “So some sap would find her, keeping ship’s security from looking for me.”

  “That sap was me,” Tricia said bitterly.

  “Ha-ha!” Then Cathy sobered. “Unfortunately, security didn’t seem to give a damn who killed EM.”

  “What happens now?” Tricia asked.

  “You’re going to have an accident—a fatal accident.”

  Tricia shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said with as much calm as she could muster. “And you won’t get away with EM’s death, because I’ve shared my theory with Officer McDonald, Harold Pilger, and more.” Well, she would have, if she’d had the chance. If nothing else, Angelica knew, and hell had no fury like Angelica scorned.

  Cathy’s sneer deepened.

  “Take a look behind you; there are cameras all over the deck,” Tricia said.

  “Liar.”

  “There are cameras all over the ship!”

  “Nobody saw me enter EM’s stateroom.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe they’re waiting until we get to New York to bag you.”

  For the first time, Cathy seemed to hesitate, and Tricia eased a step away from the rail. But then Cathy’s expression hardened once again. “You’re full of shit—and I told you not to move.”

  “I don’t have to listen to you.”

  “No, you don’t!”

  Cathy lunged forward, but instead of trying to run, Tricia dropped to the icy deck. Cathy skidded, screamed, and by the time Tricia turned, there was no sign of her.

  “Cathy!” Tricia hollered into the wind, scrambling to her feet.

  She heard no reply.

  Tricia grabbed the frozen rail, but all she could see was the gray wake at the back of the ship as it chugged farther north.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The bus ride from New York back to Stoneham was a lot quieter than it had been on the reverse course a week before. Everyone seemed subdued. The driver had reserved the seat behind him for Mary, who’d been carefully brought on board by the Celtic Lady’s medical personnel, and arrangements had been made for the Stoneham Fire Department’s EMTs to help her off when the bus arrived back home. Meanwhile, Chauncey hadn’t left Mary’s side. When the two of them looked at each other, it seemed as if they shared a special connection. Oh, how Tricia missed that kind of relationship.

  Angelica hung back with Mindy, the tour guide, to wait for the stragglers, and Tricia boarded the bus. She saw Antonio and Ginny had settled several seats from the back while a smiling Sofia sat on her mother’s lap, showing no ill effects from her troubles the night before. On the other side of the aisle, Grace sat by the window with Mr. Everett next to her. Tricia bent down to have a word with him.

  “I want to thank you for all the lovely gifts.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mr. Everett lamented. “What gave me away?”

  “‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue.’ Only you, Ginny, and Pixie knew how much I coveted an original copy.” Well, Christopher, too. “They were lovely gifts, but I don’t understand why you gave them to me.”

  Mr. Everett’s head seemed to droop. “You’ve had a terrible time these past few months. I hoped my little gifts might bring you a smile or two.”

  “That they did.” Tricia leaned closer and brushed a kiss on his wrinkled cheek. “Thank you again, Mr. Everett. You’re the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

  Mr. Everett blushed.

  Tricia patted his shoulder, then stood and shrugged out of her coat, placing it on the rack above, and took the seat behind Grace. A minute later, the last of the Stoneham group boarded and Angelica made her way up the aisle. She shucked her coat, placing it on one of the empty seats behind them, and sat beside Tricia as the driver pulled the door shut and they moved away from the curb. Angelica said nothing, but opened her briefcase, took out a notebook, and completely ignored her sister.

  Tricia spent most of the ride staring out the window, not taking in the scenery that zoomed by and not communicating with Angelica, who was still furious to find out she’d been on deck with Cathy Copper just before she’d fallen overboard.

  Angelica had returned to their suite from the ship’s medical centre after midnight, when Ginny and Antonio returned with baby Sofia to their cabin. She’d been unhappy to find Tricia was not tucked in for the night. When Tricia had finally left the ship’s security department, it was well after two in the morning, and she’d been surprised to find her sister had waited up for her, angrily pacing the floor.

  “Of all the stupid, unreasonable, and thoughtless things to do! What if it had been you who’d gone overboard?”

  Tricia had had no answer, and had been very happy to change the subject and inquire about baby Sofia. The ship’s doctor diagnosed an ear infection, but was reluctant to give the baby antibiotics. She did, however, prescribe anesthetic ear drops and ibuprofen, which had reduced the fever and given Sofia, her parents, and Angelica, some much-needed relief. Upon waking, Ginny had called her pediatrician back home and had an appointment for late in the day.

  That was one happy ending.

  Of course, Tricia wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation she’d had with Dori Douglas that morning as she and the rest of the Stoneham contingent waited in the Shamrock Casino for their group to be called to disembark.

  Dressed in a red and white ski jacket and pulling a little black suitcase behind her, Dori ignored Tricia, who hurried over to intercept the woman. “Dori.”

  Dori pretended not to hear her.

  “Dori!” she called again.

  Finally Dori deigned to acknowledge Tricia’s presence. “What do you want now?”

  “Did you hear?”

  “About Cathy? The whole ship has.”

  “Have you spoken with ship’s security?”

  “They hauled me out of bed last night and interrogated me for over an hour before they finally told me I was free to go. Don’t hold me up,” she warned.

  “The line is stalled,” Tricia observed, which was true. “I figured it out, you know.”

  “Figured what out?” Dori grated.

  Tricia lowered her voice. “When you went a
shore in Bermuda, you were seen coming out of an office supply store.”

  “So what?”

  “You made a purchase—and no doubt in cash—of a flash drive.”

  “Now, why would I want to do that?” Dori asked.

  “To store the contents of EM’s hard drive.”

  “No one ever found her missing laptop.”

  “No, because you tossed it overboard after Cathy left it on your balcony.”

  “You have no proof of that, and neither does ship’s security.”

  “What do you hope to gain?” Tricia pushed. “Are you going to hold EM’s last manuscript for ransom? Try to blackmail the publisher?”

  “That wouldn’t be very smart—and it’s also illegal.”

  “So, theoretically, what would someone have to gain from stealing something they didn’t intend to exploit?”

  “Perhaps nothing more than knowledge. It’s a pretty powerful feeling to hold a secret.”

  “And what secret would that be?”

  “Knowing how it all ends. Not just the book she was working on, but all the rest of the books she intended to write.”

  “Why would someone want to deprive her readers of that information?” Tricia asked, puzzled.

  “Because nobody else knows. Nobody else will ever know.”

  “What about the flash drive?”

  “It’s taken care of,” Dori said smugly.

  “They could search your luggage.”

  “They won’t find anything.”

  Could she have asked someone to take it and mail it to her? As head of EM’s fan club, Dori probably knew scores of her fans. Was one or more of them on board? Could she have asked one of them to take possession of the drive and send it to her at a later date?

  “If you’ll excuse me. The line is moving again. When I get home, I have a lot of work to do for the fan club.”

  “Why bother? It’s not like you’ll make any money on it.”

  “Of course I will. I take care of the website—for a nominal fee—which the estate will continue to pay. I have all EM’s books linked with affiliate codes from all the major online retailers. I get a kickback for every single book that sells off the site.”