Title Wave (13 page)

Tricia didn't know how to refute that statement because . . . maybe it was true. Like the heroes and heroines in the mysteries she loved to read, she couldn't bear to think that anyone would ever get away with murder—or any kind of crime where someone was injured or his
or her life was irreparably disrupted. It was undeniable that prosperity had brought a certain amount of crime to the village, but that was hardly her fault. “Stoneham is my home,” Tricia said at last. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good for you,” Angelica said, and picked up her blush.

“But you know, learning about these cameras made me wonder if ship's security has looked to see if anyone entered EM's stateroom in the hour or so before I found her. I mean . . . if you've gone and hanged yourself, you can't leave the door open.”

“Maybe she put a stop under the door because she
wanted
to be found,” Angelica suggested.

“That doesn't explain the abrasion under her chin. I can't think of any other way to get an injury like that except being dragged across a short-napped rug. And I have a feeling the cruise line won't want to investigate any further. They're going to accept the suicide theory just because it's in their best interest to do so.”

“Surely whoever is in charge of EM's estate will press for better answers. A woman of her financial worth is sure to be insured to the hilt. Suicide negates a death benefit payment.”

“Yes, and they can have an autopsy done, and it may establish that her death was questionable, but that still doesn't mean that the cruise line will cooperate. If they follow standard procedures—the same as every other cruise line in the world—they will probably do everything they can to dispute the beneficiary's claims. As the death happened out on the open sea, there's no real jurisdiction. Nobody really cares. It's kind of like the lawless days in the Old West. Bury her on Boot Hill and who gives a crap?”

Angelica picked up the eyelash curler. “I see your point. But it can't hurt for you to ask that handsome Officer McDonald if they're considering anything other than suicide.”

“No, it wouldn't. And I do feel compelled to do so. I didn't like EM
Barstow. She wasn't a nice person. She abused her assistant, she abused me and my employees when she came to Haven't Got a Clue to sign her books, but she doesn't deserve to be killed without somebody giving a damn.”

“I agree,” Angelica said. She picked up her mascara. “But what if the video record is inconclusive? I mean, all the killer had to do was wear a hoodie pulled down low and you'd be hard-pressed to identify him—or her.”

“That's true. But if the video recording shows someone entering EM's stateroom, they have to at least consider the possibility that she was murdered.”

“
Considering
is one thing. If what you've said is true—that they don't want to acknowledge the fact that crimes, including murder, can happen—will they be willing to pursue the matter?”

Tricia sighed. “Maybe not. But I feel like I have to at least try to get them to take a more in-depth look into her death. Otherwise, I don't think I could live with myself.”

“I admire you for sticking to your principles. That woman was rude and obnoxious, but if nothing else, she had a talent that should be respected. Her faithful readers will be saddened that she will never entertain them again.”

“Tomorrow morning I'll try to contact Officer McDonald again to see if I can convince him to look deeper into the matter.”

“Aren't you forgetting something?” Angelica asked.

Tricia frowned. “What?”

“Officer McDonald works the night shift. If you try to find him during daylight hours, he's likely to be off duty.”

“That's a good point. Then again, it didn't look like he'd just awakened when he came to the restaurant earlier today.”

“I have a feeling that if you presented your theory to the officer on
day watch that he—or she—might just blow you off. Of course, Officer McDonald might do the same thing, but if he's got an ounce of integrity, he should at least listen to you.”

Tricia sure hoped that anyone working a job in security would have a modicum of integrity. The problem was that the person on the job might have all the integrity in the world, but if corporate policy took precedence, then integrity would sink like a lead weight in water. And the Atlantic Ocean was very, very deep.

“I'm ready to go, and you haven't even started getting ready,” Angelica scolded.

“I wasn't going to put a lot of effort into it. What for?”

“Because—you might meet somebody. We're both terribly attractive and
awfully
available.”

“This is
not
the Love Boat,” Tricia countered.

“But who says it couldn't be?” Angelica said with what sounded like glee.

“There's a murderer on board—and it could be anyone. Under the circumstances, I'm definitely not looking for love.”

Angelica sighed and looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head sadly. “I guess you're right. But just think, all this beauty is going to waste.”

Tricia smiled. “You're full of baloney.”

“No, I'm not. I'm starving. They had better have some spectacular finger foods at this cocktail party, especially since it looks like it'll just be you and me for dinner tonight. And maybe Grace and Mr. Everett.”

“What has that got to do with food?”

“Nothing. I was just hoping for another family dinner.”

“Ginny told me she and Antonio have planned a low-key evening.”

Angelica waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe their second child will be conceived on this trip.”

“Who says they want to have a second child?”

“Antonio. But Ginny is worried about the timing. She wants another baby, yet still continue to work.”

“They're young,” Tricia said. “What's the hurry?”

Angelica shrugged. “I thought it might be nice to have a grandson as well as a granddaughter.”

“Don't push them.”

“Me, push?”

Tricia gave her sister a level glare, but decided not to press the issue. “I'd better go get dressed.” She left Angelica's side of the stateroom and headed to her own. She was inspecting her closet when Angelica arrived, carrying a pair of navy shoes and a clutch purse that coordinated with her dress. Of course she immediately spotted the box of chocolates.

“Where did these come from?”

“My secret admirer.”

“Do you think they've been tampered with?”

Tricia turned, openmouthed—then caught herself. “Of course not. They're sealed. And they came wrapped in the gift paper from the ship's arcade.”

“Okay, okay. I just wanted to make sure.”

Tricia turned back to the clothes hanging in the closet.

“Tomorrow we dock in Bermuda,” Angelica said as Tricia took out a blazer and inspected it. “Oh, not that, dear,” Angelica advised, and Tricia hung it back up. She pawed through the hangers. “We haven't talked about going ashore.”

“I wasn't sure I was going to go,” Tricia said. “The area by the docks is probably just full of tourist trap shops, and none of the excursions really excited me.”

“Oh, but you have to get off the ship,” Angelica insisted. “I mean—wasn't that part of the idea of going on this trip? To see a beautiful island and enjoy a little sun.”

“I Googled it. The average temperature in Bermuda during January is sixty-six degrees,” Tricia said. “That's hardly what I'd call suntanning weather.”

“It's a damn sight better than the eleven-degree weather we left back home,” Angelica said.

“That's true.”

“I know this fabulous restaurant. They have amazing fish dishes. I insist on taking you there.”

“Insist?” Tricia asked, taking out a white blouse. She'd wear the gold brocade jacket with it and the dark silk pants. That would certainly fit the elegant casual that was the ship's dress code for the evening.

Angelica pursed her lips. “I'd
really
like to take you there. And we could do a little shopping while we're out. Wouldn't that be fun? We haven't gone shopping together in such a long time.”

They'd gone to Boston with Ginny for a weekend of shopping just weeks before. Did Angelica sound just a little desperate?

Tricia shrugged. “As it's a port day, there won't be much to do on board. I guess I could go with you. But when am I ever going to have a chance to catch up on my reading?”

“Maybe we could rent a couple of chairs on the beach. It won't be too hot.”

“It won't be all that warm, either,” Tricia said.

“We'll just have to see what the weather's like in the morning.”

“Okay, you talked me into it.”

“Good.” Angelica smiled. “We'll certainly have an interesting time. I'll let you get dressed.” She left the room.

An interesting time? What had she meant by that?

Tricia shook her head and changed clothes. She'd combed her hair and freshened her face by the time Angelica returned, still carrying her clutch purse. “Ready?”

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

They left the stateroom and headed for the lifts.

“Where is this cocktail party—and what's it for?” Tricia asked.

“It's in the Commodore Club, and it's for booksellers and authors to schmooze one-on-one. Except for bumping into them at odd moments or in the ladies' room, we really haven't had a chance to personally speak with many of the authors.”

“I know. And what a dud we had for our author at the luncheon this afternoon. I hope we don't run into him at the cocktail party.”

“From what I gather, all the authors were invited, but maybe he won't show. He'd probably be better off talking to librarians anyway.”

They joined several others who were already waiting for the elevator. “I wish Ginny and Antonio were coming,” Tricia said.

Angelica shook her head. “Neither of them are booksellers.”

That was true. The Happy Domestic, that Ginny had managed for the past couple of years, did sell books, but it wasn't the store's main focus. And after the cruise she would be moving on to another position within the ever-expanding Nigela Ricita Associates organization.

By the time the lift arrived, there was quite a crowd waiting to get on. Angelica and Tricia squeezed in and rode up to Deck 10. When the car arrived, they filed out and the entire group headed for the party, but almost immediately came to a halt, as there seemed to be a line waiting to get into the club.

“I wonder what's the holdup,” Angelica said.

“Maybe they're passing out name tags.”

Tricia was right. When they finally got to the door, they saw the woman in charge of the ship's bookstore manning a table and handing out peel-and-stick name tags to the guests; green for the booksellers, and gold for the authors.

“Oh, dear,” Angelica groused. “It clashes with my dress.”

“You won't be the only one,” Tricia assured her.

Once inside, Tricia took in her surroundings. Like most of the ship,
the Commodore Club was a bastion of understated elegance. Dark wood clad the semicircular walls, and sumptuous upholstered chairs grouped in intimate clusters, most of which overlooked the bow of the ship, gave its patrons a wonderful view of what lay ahead of the ship. At that time of day, however, the sea was black and the sky above it was quickly turning from a dusky blue to ebony. At the back was a long bar that mimicked the shape of the room, and already had a crowd in front of it. Writers, Tricia knew, sometimes had reputations for being enthusiastic social drinkers.

“Shall we get a cocktail?” Angelica asked.

“We might want to wait until the line thins.”

“Will it?” Angelica asked pointedly.

“Maybe not.”

Dori Douglas stood alone by one of the windows, her gaze seemingly focused on nothing. Tricia nudged her sister. “There's Dori. I don't think she has any friends on this cruise. Maybe we should go over and see how she's doing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Angelica said, and followed Tricia.

“Hello, Dori.”

“Oh, hello.” The poor woman sounded rattled.

“I haven't had an opportunity to offer my condolences to you on EM's loss,” Tricia said, her voice soft.

“Thank you. It was a terrible shock,” Dori said sadly.

“I must admit I'm surprised to see you here.”

“EM's editor has authorized me to carry on and represent EM for the rest of the cruise.”

“Are you sure you're up to that?” Angelica asked.

Dori nodded. “I probably knew her as well as anyone, and as president of her fan club, I can certainly talk knowledgeably about every one of her books.”

That was probably true.

“We haven't had an opportunity to see or talk to Cathy since EM's death. How's she doing?” Tricia asked.

“Oh. You know her?”

“We met on our first night at sea.”

Dori nodded. “I guess she's okay. She seemed more annoyed than anything else. I guess Emmie was her biggest-selling author.”

Yes, Tricia could see where that might affect Cathy's corporate future.

“Not to be indelicate,” Angelica said, lowering her voice, “but, what will happen to EM's body when we get back to New York?”

Dori shrugged. “I really don't know.”

“Who was EM's next of kin?”

“As far as I know, she has several cousins who live in the Midwest, but from what she said, EM wasn't close to any of her family.”

If she treated them like she treated her fans and admirers, that wasn't at all surprising. “Will there be an autopsy?” Tricia inquired.

Dori grimaced. “I suppose so. I mean, her death was unattended.”

“Did she have any heirs?”