Title Wave (22 page)

“Retail is difficult,” Cathy agreed. “Didn't you aspire to more?”

Was she actually interested in the answer?

“I worked at a nonprofit for almost a decade. It was challenging work, but I always had my heart set on opening a mystery bookstore.”

Cathy sighed, probably biting her tongue so as not to make a nasty remark about that particular brand of fiction. “I often think of what I might do when I retire.”

“I didn't retire,” Tricia asserted. She was, after all, only twelve or
thirteen years older than Cathy. “I got divorced. I received a nice settlement and decided to make a change.”

“Didn't you say you were located in New Hampshire?”

Tricia nodded.

“Don't you miss the excitement of the city?”

“Not really. Life has not been at all dull since I moved to Stoneham.” Not when some of the villagers now referred to it as the death capital of New England.

“I may have to drive up there to have a look,” Cathy said. She certainly seemed a lot more affable than she'd been ten or so minutes before—kind of like a fair-weather friend. Tricia had had enough of those friendships, and now she wished she hadn't blown off Angelica and her Stoneham family at lunch to mark time with Cathy. Oh well, there was always dinner, where she could reconnect.

Tricia drained her glass. “It's been a busy day.”

“For me, too,” Cathy admitted.

“I'll be staying up late tonight—at least late for me—to go to the big ballroom dance competition. Are you going?”

Cathy shook her head. “I find competitive
anything
to be a total bore.”

“One of my friends thinks she has a shot at winning.”

“I walked past the Crystal Ballroom when some of the classes were going on. Lot of old farts were doing the mambo. It was hysterical.”

Tricia didn't appreciate her friend being called an old fart. “I'm sure they're all young at heart.”

“And they ought to be careful they don't
strain
their hearts,” Cathy said, and laughed.

“Aerobic exercise is good for everyone.”

Cathy's gaze dipped. “Sometimes a little
too
good.”

Talk about a non sequitur.

Tricia rose. “I'm sure we'll be bumping into each other before the end of the cruise.”

“As it's a small ship—it seems inevitable.”

“Have a great evening,” Tricia said, grabbing her tote, and headed for the aisle. She hoped that would be the last time she spent time with Cathy Copper.

It was
nearly five, and Tricia was already sitting in the Portside Bar when Angelica practically came bouncing into the room. Tricia had parked there after her encounter with Cathy Copper, content to sit in the corner and read while other passengers came for a drink or two and then wandered off again.

She sat up straighter and put her book on the cocktail table in front of her. “You're in a good mood.”

“And why shouldn't I be?” Angelica asked, sitting down in the adjacent brocaded chair. “It turns out there are three other Chamber of Commerce presidents on the cruise. We met for drinks and had a fascinating chat about intrastate marketing.”

“Drinks?” Tricia asked, unable to keep the disapproval out of her voice.

“Pardon me, I should have said ‘coffee.' I promise you, so far nothing stronger has passed my lips today.” She signaled the waitress. “But that's about to change.”

“Where did this happen?”

“In the card room. Lovely little niche. Too bad we don't play cards. It seems to be where the eligible men gravitate—except they all appear to be over seventy. What have you been up to? Did you ever track down Cathy Copper?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did she say anything interesting?”

“She went to Dartmouth.”

“She's an alumnus?” Angelica asked, sounding disconcerted.

“Sigma Delta.”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Well, that explains everything about her.”

“Now, now,” Tricia chided. “Those kinds of rivalries are far in our past.”

“You're right,” Angelica said, sounding contrite. “And after the wonderful afternoon I've had, I'm not going to think about past jealousies. After all, there's virtually no one I'm envious of.”

“Then you're a very lucky person.”

“You're jealous of someone?” Angelica asked, surprised.

“Not at all.”

Luckily the uniformed waitress arrived to put an end to that subject.

“I'll have a gin and tonic,” Angelica said.

“Oh?” Tricia asked.

“Sure. After yesterday, I'm going to pace myself. And G and Ts are kind of like martinis on training wheels, right?”

Tricia shook her head before turning to the waitress. “I'll have one, too, please. And could we have a bowl of crisps with that?”

“Certainly,” the woman said as Angelica handed over her keycard. “I'll be back in a few moments with your drinks.” She nodded and headed back toward the bar.

“Crisps?” Angelica sked.

“I skipped lunch, remember?” Tricia said.

“Oh, yes. So you did.” She settled back in her chair. “I take it you haven't been back to the suite since this morning.”

“No, why?”

“Because, your secret admirer has struck again.”

“Oh, no.”

“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.”