Title Wave (16 page)

A glass of Scotch, neat, sat in front of John's place, but it looked like their mother was drinking only water. Suddenly Tricia craved a double martini and hoped Angelica would order for them. She needed
a good belt of something to help her get over the shock of seeing her parents.

“Isn't it a small world?” Angelica asked, her voice still higher than normal.

“It certainly is,” Tricia agreed grimly.

“I'm so happy you girls could join us for lunch, but unhappy your ship takes off this evening. It hardly gives us time to do more than chat,” John said. He turned to Tricia, his expression darkening. “We were very sorry to hear about Christopher.”

So sorry they couldn't call, e-mail, or send a card during the past six months?

“It was a terrible shock,” Tricia agreed.

“We've never had a murder in the family before this,” Sheila said coolly. “It's all so . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Tawdry. But then you
were
divorced, so . . .” She let the sentence hang.

Again Tricia's cheeks burned. Thankfully, a waiter showed up. “May I get you ladies something other than water to drink?”

“I'll have a dry Beefeater martini, up, with olives,” Angelica said hurriedly.

“The same please,” Tricia said, somehow managing a smile.

“I'll have another,” their father said, indicating his Scotch.

“Ma'am?” the waiter asked Sheila politely.

Sheila smiled sweetly. “I don't feel the need to drown
my
sorrows.”

The waiter nodded and turned away.

“Martinis? My, you girls have certainly grown up,” John said.

“We're both fabulously successful businesswomen,” Angelica said.

“Do tell,” their mother said with a hint of sarcasm.

“I have my darling little cookbook store, a funky retro café, and part interest in a bed-and-breakfast.” Tricia waited for her to expand the list, including her Nigela Ricita holdings, but Angelica refrained from mentioning anything else. “Since being elected president of our local Chamber of Commerce, I've had to put my writing career on
hold, but it's giving me lots of time to think about what direction I want my literary career to take.”

“Hopefully away from cookery,” Sheila muttered.

“Everybody's got to eat,” Angelica said, her tone light.

“I'm very proud of you,” John said, then picked up his glass and sipped his Scotch.

“Tricia's fabulously successful with her wonderful mystery bookstore, too.”

Sheila sighed loudly. “Mysteries are just so . . . common. Besides, I thought you said the place burned to the ground.”

“Oh, I'm sure I told you that the store had reopened just in time for the Christmas rush,” Angelica said, and Tricia didn't doubt her. “It's even prettier than it was before. And Tricia has two of the sweetest employees, whom we count among our dearest friends.”

“Oh, no! I hope you don't socialize with the help,” Sheila said, frowning.

“As a matter of fact, one of them joined us on the voyage,” Tricia said.

Sheila's frown deepened.

“Didn't you say that stepson of yours joined you on the trip?” John asked Angelica. “We haven't seen him since he was just a boy. Did he ever learn to speak English?”

Angelica's smile was tight. “Of course he did; and he speaks fluent French, as well. Antonio works for a big developer and manages the beautiful old inn in Stoneham, among other projects. I'm sorry he couldn't be here today, but his darling wife was feeling a little queasy. I'm sure after a day in port she'll find her sea legs and be just fine.”

Tricia studied her sister's face. Oh, Angelica lied beautifully. No doubt she had no intention of offering Antonio, Ginny, and baby Sofia up as objects of their mother's disdain or ridicule. Too bad she hadn't thought to include Tricia in that plan.

Luckily, the waiter arrived with the drinks, setting them on white cocktail napkins. “Are you ready to order?”

“Thank you, but we could use a few minutes. We have oodles to talk about,” Angelica said, her voice tight.

The waiter nodded and turned away.

Oodles to talk about? Maybe
she
did. . . .

“Well, what shall we drink to?” John asked, picking up his glass.

“How about family?” Angelica suggested.

“Excellent,” John agreed, and the three of them clicked glasses. Sheila sat back in her chair.

Tricia noticed that Angelica took as big a hit of that fine drink as she did.

The four of them looked at each other. Angelica smiled. John smiled. Tricia smiled. Sheila didn't. The quiet dragged on. Tricia found her gaze traveling out to one of the ferries chugging its way across the harbor.

The quiet dragged on.

“So, what made you decide to visit Bermuda? It's got to be cooler than Rio this time of year,” Tricia said. Innocuous conversation seemed the best approach.

“When Angelica said you'd be coming down to our part of the world, we decided it would be a wonderful opportunity to see our girls,” John said.

We?
Tricia wondered.

“Well,
you
did, dear,” Sheila said. “I find it quite cold here.”

Angelica's laugh seemed forced. “Nothing like the temps back home in Stoneham.”

“If you're both so wildly successful, why can't you leave your businesses in the hands of your lackeys and winter in warmer climes?” Sheila asked.

“My employees are
not
lackeys,” Tricia said firmly.

“Nor are mine,” Angelica said, sounding more than a little hurt.

“Then if they're so capable, you should be able to trust them to run your businesses while you enjoy the fruits of your labors.”

“I enjoy working,” Tricia said. “I always have.”

“Is that true for you, too, Angelica?” Sheila asked, an edge of disappointment creeping into her voice.

Tricia turned to look at her sister. For years she'd believed that Angelica's only business experience had been as a sales clerk in a failed boutique. Obviously their mother had no idea of what Angelica could do or had accomplished.

“Yes,” Angelica said. “And I'm happy. In fact, I'm happier than I've ever been.”

“And what about your social life? Or does being so wrapped up in your work mean you have no time—and maybe won't be attractive—to men who could make your life so much easier?”

Tricia's mouth dropped. What century was her mother living in?

Angelica managed a lopsided smile. “Gosh, I'm hungry.” She picked up her menu. Tricia did likewise. “What looks good to you, Mother?” she asked.

Sheila tossed her head. “I'm having the fresh greens with balsamic vinaigrette.”

“Tricia's keen to try some of the local cuisine, as am I,” Angelica said, perusing the menu. Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be anything with a local flair available to them.

“I want a steak,” John said. “How about you, Angelica?”

“Well, the mixed grill sounds good.”

“Tricia?” John asked.

Tricia's gaze slipped down to the entrées. Nothing really appealed to her but she had to eat something. “The duck with citrus sauce over rice sounds good.”

“Duck is extremely fatty, and rice is incredibly carb heavy. Are you sure you want to order that?” Sheila asked, eyeing Tricia critically. “It looks as though you've packed on a few pounds since we last saw you,”

That wasn't exactly true. Tricia had gained a total of five pounds in the last year, which she attributed to the stress of her store burning and Christopher's death. And, as her doctor had also affirmed—she was at a time in life when it wasn't as easy to shed pounds as it might have been a decade earlier. She still wore the same-sized clothes and they weren't exactly tight, either.

Tricia glanced in her sister's direction. Angelica was an inch or two shorter than Tricia and weighed a good twenty pounds more, and yet their mother deigned to criticize
her
for her menu choice?

“Oh, Mother, don't be silly. A good stiff wind would blow Tricia away,” Angelica admonished, and then her eyes darted to Tricia, her forehead furrowing in distress.

“Would you prefer I have nothing?” Tricia asked her mother. It was an effort to keep her voice level.

“Do what you want, dear,” Sheila said, her tone simpering, and then she shrugged.

Tricia closed her menu. “I believe I'll pass on lunch,” she said, taking another sip of her martini. Her gaze drifted to Angelica, who'd abandoned distress and had apparently moved on to anger.

“Me, too,” Angelica said. She closed her menu as well, setting it back on the table.

“Girls, girls,” their father chided, “don't be like that.”

“Like what?” Angelica asked, her voice hardening.

“Ange, please don't,” Tricia muttered.

“Trish,” Angelica warned.

Tricia knew that tone. “Please don't,” she tried again. “It's not worth it.”

“Dear, dear sister. You couldn't be more wrong.”

Tricia watched as Angelica seemed to inflate before her, her expression growing hard. “Mother, I have cut you a lot of slack over the years, but no more.”

“Why, Angelica, whatever do you mean?” Sheila asked, her tone innocent.

“I've stood by for far too long allowing you to disparage my sister, and I won't stand for it any longer.”

“Angelica?” their father asked, sounding confused.

“Patrick died of SIDS,” Angelica stated.

The mention of their long-ago deceased brother caused Sheila's eyes to widen in sudden fury and her cheeks to redden.

“You've always blamed Tricia for Patrick's death, but the truth is he probably died because he was sleeping on his tummy. Most moms put their babies to sleep on their tummies back then and you probably did, too.”

“That's what I was
told
to do. Are you saying
I
caused his death?” Sheila asked sharply.

“No. And neither did Tricia. But because she lived and Patrick didn't, you've punished her for decades. It's got to stop.”

“Ange!” Tricia protested.

Sheila's expression hardened.

“Tricia would never tell you how much your poor treatment of her has hurt, but I'm telling you now.”

“Ange, please!” Tricia pleaded.

“Yes. Please spare us,” Sheila said diffidently.

Angelica turned to their father. “Daddy, how could you have let this go on for so long?”

The poor man shrugged. “I have to live with her,” he said apologetically.

Angelica pushed back her chair and stood. “Trish, let's go. Maybe it's not too late for us to have lunch with our
real
family back on the ship.”

Never had Tricia felt such affection for her sister. She stood. “It was lovely to see you again, Daddy.” Tricia bent down to brush a kiss against his cheek.

“Don't go,” he implored. He looked up at Tricia. “I'm sorry, princess. Your mother's tart words seem to bother you. I thought . . .” But whatever he thought, he said no more.

Tricia smiled. “Good-bye, Daddy. I love you.” She turned to her mother. “I love you, too.” But then she turned and headed for the lobby, wondering if she would ever see her parents again.

*   *   *

Tricia didn't
wait for Angelica to follow and left the opulent lobby for the sunny expanse of sidewalk outside the hotel. She headed back toward Front Street with her head held high, but at an easy pace, not sure what to think of the altercation at the restaurant. She hadn't wanted Angelica to say anything about her relationship with their mother, though perhaps in the long run clearing the air was the best thing that could have happened. That her mother wouldn't apologize hadn't been a surprise, but for some reason Tricia felt a sense of relief—of closure.

She walked half a mile or so until she saw a bench in a small patch of green by the side of the road. She sat down and looked at her surroundings, so different than Main Street back in Stoneham. It was then that a wave of homesickness hit. Tricia dug into her purse and plucked out her phone, punching in the number she knew by rote. It rang twice.

“Haven't Got a Clue. This is Pixie. How can I help you?”

“I wanna come home,” Tricia practically wailed.

“Tricia, is that you?”

“It's me. I miss you and Miss Marple something terrible,” she admitted, afraid she might begin to cry.

“Oh, and we miss you, too. But you've got nothing to worry about—except maybe for paying the rent next month. Business has been practically nonexistent. Did you know we got nearly a foot of snow overnight?”

“No, I didn't.”

“And another six inches yesterday. Gosh, I envy you. You sure are lucky to be someplace warm and sunny.”

Again Tricia took in her surroundings. Palm fronds swayed, while all around beautiful flowers bloomed, and the breeze—while not sultry—was pleasant.

“How is Miss Marple?”

“She's right behind me on her perch. Do you want to say hello?”

“Yes, please.”

“Go ahead,” came Pixie's muffled voice.

“Miss Marple. It's me, your mom. I love you.”

Tricia felt her eyes fill with tears as she heard “
Yow!
” issue from the tiny speaker in her phone.

“Good girl,” Pixie told the cat, then came back on the phone. “Are you having a good time on the cruise?”

“Well, not really.”

“Uh-oh. You didn't find anyone dead, did you?”

“Well, kind of.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah. EM Barstow.”

“That was
your
ship?” Pixie asked, sounding incredulous.

“I'm afraid so.”

“Aw, gee. You have the rottenest luck.”

“Don't I just?” Tricia agreed.