Title Wave (28 page)

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 fired 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.

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 ashore 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.”

“Did EM know that?”

“Of course not. She was too arrogant to listen to me when I tried to explain it. She signed a waiver and . . . now I just sit back and collect the money every month.”

“But if more of her books went into production, you'd make even more.”

“You don't think EM's death is going to be the end of the Tennyson Eisenberg books, do you?”

No, she didn't.

“Someone else will write them. They won't be as good, but they'll sell and sell and sell. And thanks to Mr. Pilger, I negotiated a deal with the publisher. I get to represent their interests at various reader conferences and collect speaker's fees. With EM gone, she can't offend people right, left, and center anymore. In fact, in a year or two, I'll have people thinking of her in glowing terms. I intend to canonize her,” she said blithely.

Good luck with that
, Tricia thought.

“Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Tricia watched her leave the ship, then had to scramble to grab her things when the Stoneham group was called.

She'd been surprised that Officer McDonald was waiting for her at the security checkpoint. He motioned for her to step out of line and speak to him out of earshot of the others.

“Have you heard anything?” Tricia asked.

“The Coast Guard hasn't found a trace of Ms. Copper,” McDonald said gravely.

Tricia shook her head. Cathy had been wearing that down parka,
which would have weighed a ton when soaked with frigid water. There was no way she could have survived in the sea for more than a minute or more even if she'd been able to shuck the heavy coat. The thought that she may have been chewed up by the ship's propellers made Tricia shudder.

“Will there be any investigation into EM Barstow's death?”

“I'll be speaking with NYPD within the hour.”

“I don't suppose you could keep me apprised of the investigation.”

“Perhaps,” he said.

Tricia dug into her purse and came up with one of her business cards. “I'd appreciate it.”

McDonald placed the card in his left pants pocket, but Tricia could see the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he
would
actually call her.

“Have a safe ride home, Ms. Miles.”

“I hope your next cruise is without incident,” Tricia replied. McDonald nodded, turned, and headed back down the corridor.

Tricia had to hurry to catch up with the rest of the Stoneham group. Just as she was about to board the bus, she'd seen Harold Pilger hailing a cab. She wished she'd had another opportunity to speak with the attorney, and wondered if she might look him up when she got back home. Then again, was he liable to tell her anything she didn't already know—if he wasn't sworn to secrecy? She wasn't sure.

“We're almost home,” Angelica said curtly. They were the first words she'd spoken in more than an hour.

Tricia tuned in to her surroundings as the bus turned off Route 101 and onto the road that would take them into Stoneham.

The bus began to buzz with the sounds of people gathering their belongings. Everyone seemed more than ready to go home. Since they were seated near the back of the bus, Tricia didn't bother to collect her things.

As they pulled into the municipal parking lot, Tricia noticed a figure dressed in a black topcoat and fedora approach the lot. “Ange,” she called sharply.

Angelica stood in the aisle, trying to help Ginny stuff Sofia back into her snowsuit. “What?”

“Look out the window.”

Angelica bent down and her jaw went slack. “Good heavens! It's Daddy!”

“Daddy?” Ginny asked.

“Our father,” Tricia affirmed.

“Oh, my.”

Most of the others were already off the bus, but Angelica lowered her voice to a whisper. “He doesn't know about—you know,” she said, referring to her Nigela Ricita identity and empire, “and I don't want him to know. I'm so proud of the three of you, and I want him to meet you, just not right now.”

“Do not worry,” Antonio said, patting her back. “We will get off the bus and will talk later, no?”

“Yes. And thank you.” Somehow Angelica managed to give all three of them a kiss.

“What are we going to say to him?” Tricia asked.

“I'm more interested in what he's got to say to us,” Angelica answered.

They donned their winter coats, hats, and scarfs, and headed down the aisle, with Angelica leading the way. By the time they got outside, most of the others had collected their luggage and were trudging toward their vehicles.

John hurried to meet them. “Surprise!” he called, but sounded unsure of what kind of welcome he would receive.

Angelica hurried over to him, throwing her arms around him. “Daddy, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see my girls.”

Tricia stood waiting. Angelica pulled away, and John held out his arms to her. “Princess?” he asked quietly.

Tricia stepped forward, giving him a gentle hug; her welcome not nearly as enthusiastic as her sister's had been. “Where's Mother?”

“Home. In Rio.”

“What made you decide to come all the way to snowy New Hampshire?” Angelica asked.

“I wanted to see where you live.” John shivered in his long, heavy coat. “Funny, I don't remember winter ever being this cold.” He looked at Tricia. “I came here to apologize to you both, but mostly to Tricia.”

“Oh, Daddy, you don't have—”

“Yes, I do. I just wanted you to know that I'm proud of both my girls, and I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

Tricia almost gave an automatic “
But there's nothing to forgive
” before she realized it would take her a long, long time to forgive, and she would certainly never forget, either. “Why don't we go inside somewhere and talk.”

“My apartment is just down the block,” Angelica suggested.

“I know. I've been to your store and met your dog. I've eaten lunch in your café. I'm staying in the B and B you've got an interest in, too. They're all very nice.”

Angelica smiled shyly. Even at fifty years old, a compliment from her father still meant the world to her.

“You've got a nice store, too, princess.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

John reached for the handle of Angelica's big case. “Now, let's get all your things and go home.”