Title Wave (5 page)

She was so engrossed in thought, it took her a moment to realize someone was standing at her shoulder. She looked up and recognized Fiona Sample, Nikki Brimfield-Smith's mother. “Fiona! I heard you were on board.” She held her arms out to embrace the author. “It's so good to see you again.”

“You're a sight for sore eyes, too.”

“I'm so sorry Nikki and Russ couldn't make the trip.”

“I offered to pay for them to come, but you know Russ.”

“I'm afraid I do,” Tricia said with a shake of her head.

“Though I hate to be away from my husband and kids for so long, I'll be heading to Stoneham to stay for a few days after the cruise. I'd love to visit your store and sign the stock.”

“I always keep your books on my shelves, so there are plenty to sign.”

Fiona smiled. “You're so good to me. You always have been.”

Tricia had been instrumental in reuniting Nikki and her mother after years of estrangement. Too bad no one had engineered such an intervention between Tricia and
her
mother.

Fiona pushed back one of her sleeves and scratched her wrist, which also bore one of the odd little fabric bracelets like EM wore.

“What's that?” Tricia asked.

“What's what?”

“That bracelet you're wearing.”

Fiona pushed back the sleeve of her cardigan. “This? It's an acupressure wristband.”

“What's it for?”

“Motion sickness. On my last cruise, I wore an anti-nausea patch. It worked fine, but it left me with such terrible dry mouth that I vowed I'd never wear one again. A friend told me about these wristbands and, wearing them, I'm cured. Of course, I also brought along a little bottle of Coke syrup—just in case. Have you ever been seasick?”

“No.”

“Then you're lucky.” Fiona pulled the band away from her skin. “This little white button presses into your wrist. Even if it's just a placebo, it sure seems to work for me—and lots of others, too.”

Tricia wondered how many other passengers would be wearing the unattractive bands on their wrists. Still, if they worked—who cared about fashion?

“When are you giving your talk?”

“I'm on a panel with several of the Lethal Ladies this afternoon at three,” Fiona said.

“Oh, I love their blog,” Tricia said.

“Will you be there?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“It'll be good to have a friend cheering me on in the audience. I don't do much public speaking these days. I'm afraid I'm a little rusty.”

“We must have lunch or dinner before the end of the cruise—and maybe once we get back to Stoneham, too,” Tricia said.

“I'd love that.” Fiona looked at her watch. “Oh, my. I'm being interviewed for tomorrow's shipboard morning TV show. They're going to feature a couple of authors each day. I'll be late if I don't hustle my bustle.”

“If I don't see you later today, I'll definitely see you tomorrow,” Tricia promised.

“I'll hold you to it,” Fiona said, gave a quick wave, and headed forward.

Tricia turned back to the display and plucked the picture of her and Angelica and took it to the desk, purchasing it. With the cardboard photo holder in hand, she retraced her steps and found the library had finally opened. All the cabinets were unlocked, and Tricia spent a happy half hour going from shelf to shelf, pulling out the books, inhaling their wonderful scent, and reading the descriptions on the back covers. Nearly all of them were hardcovers, and many were large-print editions. She thought of Cathy Copper and frowned. Did a woman that young actually read for pleasure, or did she put in her time at the publisher and go home to post selfies of herself on Instagram?

Tricia, Tricia
, the inner voice inside her scolded. Maybe she was just a little burned by Cathy's attitude. Still, she'd come to find a nice book to read and was determined to find one.

As she rounded the corner, Tricia saw EM stationed at one of the library's carrels by a window. Whitecaps decorated each cresting wave outside, but in the ship's inviting library, EM's attention was intently focused on her laptop's screen. She'd come prepared to fend off distractions by erecting a small placard on the desktop that read:
AUTHOR
AT WORK: DO NOT DISTURB
. The sign seemed to be doing its job. Nobody seemed the least bit interested in bothering the great EM Barstow. EM wore the same acupressure bracelets as Fiona, but she'd also donned a bracelet on one hand, and a watch on the other, though neither covered the ugly fabric bands.

The man on the scooter she'd seen the previous day in the terminal rode into the library. The vehicle came to a halt, and he looked around the wood-paneled room. His expression brightened when he caught sight of EM, and then he made a beeline straight for her.

“Hi, Emmie!” he called cheerfully.

EM looked up from her laptop's computer screen, her expression hardening. “Can't you read the sign?” she asked, pointing to the placard in front of her.

“Darling, Emmie, surely that doesn't include
me
,” the man said, sounding disappointed.

“I put it there especially
for
you, Arnold,” EM said coldly.

Tricia looked away, perusing more titles, trying not to eavesdrop, but it seemed as though EM
wanted
those around her to listen in.

“Leave me alone, or I will have ship's security lock you away for the rest of the trip.”

“It isn't a crime to visit the ship's library. And contrary to what you think, it isn't a crime for me to speak in your presence.”

“It ought to be,” EM grated.

“It may interest you to know that you are no longer my favorite author,” Arnold said blandly.

“Which I intend to celebrate.”

Tricia took a book down, glanced at the cover, and turned it over to check out the description on the back.

“I'm not even going to attend your silly panel this morning.”

“Nothing I do is silly,” EM grated.

“So says the massively inflated ego,” the man said theatrically. “But
I'm sure we'll be seeing each other around the ship from time to time during the next few days. Perhaps if you're nice to me, we can be pals once again.”

“We were
never
pals,” EM asserted.

“So you say. Now. Ah, but there was a time,” Arnold said wistfully.

“Go away.”

“And just to remind you,” Arnold continued, “we're on the open sea and U.S. laws don't apply here.”

EM's gaze remained hard. “Go away!” she repeated more forcefully.

“I will, my darling, but only because I have better things to do than spar with you.”

Arnold grabbed his scooter's handles and backed up. Tricia watched as he headed out the door, then turned her attention back to the book in her hand. It looked like an interesting read, and she decided to borrow it.

She glanced back at EM, who hadn't gone back to work. Instead, her gaze was fixed on the swells outside the window. Could she have actually been rattled by her brief conversation with her former fan?

Tricia moved to the next cabinet filled with tomes and studied the titles and authors, none of whom were familiar. She chose another book at random and studied the description. She opened the book and read the first few paragraphs before noticing movement to her right. EM had evidently decided the library wasn't a conducive workplace after all, and was packing up her laptop—either that, or she needed to prepare for her upcoming panel. From the look on her face, she was definitely unhappy.

Tricia replaced the book on the shelf and decided to just borrow the one book. She walked briskly to the checkout desk and surrendered her keycard. The librarian on duty swiped the card and handed it and the book back to Tricia. “Enjoy!”

“I'm sure I will,” Tricia said, and headed out of the library. She
wasn't sure where she'd end up on the ship to read, but she had several hours to kill before Fiona's panel and she intended to enjoy them.

A sunny day. A relatively calm sea. A book in hand.

Bliss.

And yet, part of her mind was still pondering the odd conversation she'd witnessed between EM and her former fan. What had he meant by his cryptic remark about laws not applying on the open sea?

Tricia shook her head. It wasn't any of her business. And yet, her curiosity had been piqued. The thought that someone annoyed EM as much as she annoyed others was rather amusing. Still, it was apparent that the world-famous author had been disturbed by the encounter.

What did she have to fear?

After leaving
the ship's library, Tricia settled into a sunny spot in the port side of the Garden Lounge and managed to read the first five chapters of
Why Wonder About Murder?
by an Irish author Tricia had never read before, when she looked at her watch and found it was already time to meet Angelica for lunch. She showed up on time and stood near the entrance to the Lido Restaurant, searching the faces of other passengers, looking for her sister. Instead, it was Mary Fairchild's familiar face that stood out in the crowd. She waved to Tricia and stepped out of the incoming traffic for a word.

“You look happy,” Tricia said.

“I've just come from the Crystal Ballroom,” Mary said, her cheeks pink, her eyes sparkling. “Did you know they give ballroom dancing lessons on board?”

“I think I heard something about it.”

“The cruise line supplies gentlemen dance hosts for unaccompanied
ladies. It was a lot of fun learning to do the cha-cha and mambo. My partner's name is Ed Gardener. He used to be a shoe salesman, and now that he's retired, he spends most of his time cruising and dancing. Doesn't that sound like a fun life?”

Not really, but Tricia wasn't about to burst Mary's bubble.

“Luke”—Mary's ex—“hated to dance. He even griped about being forced into it at our wedding. That was the last time he joined me on any dance floor. But learning to do those dance steps was so much fun—I felt like I could be a contestant on
Dancing with the Stars
. Tonight I'm going to the ballroom to try out these new steps, and I'm dressing to the nines. I sure hope Ed is going to be there. What a card! Maybe you should come,” she suggested.

“I'm afraid I have two left feet,” Tricia lied. She'd been forced to go to dancing school all those years ago. It was something her mother made her and Angelica do. Angelica took to it like a fish to water. Tricia . . . well, she could do it, but really enjoyed dancing only with Christopher. Just the thought of those happy times—and the fact that they'd never happen again—brought on another pang of sadness.

“Don't let me keep you from lunch,” Tricia said.

“I'm meeting Leona. I can't wait to tell her about it, too!” Mary said, gave a wave, and entered the restaurant.

Tricia went back to scanning the faces of the other cruisers entering the restaurant. By the time Angelica showed up almost ten minutes later, she'd put the memories of herself and Christopher out of her mind. Almost.

Angelica approached, smiling and waving cheerfully.

“I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up,” Tricia said.

“I'm sorry I'm late. EM's lecture—and that's just what it was—ran a little late.”

“Well, you're here now. You can tell me all about it after we grab lunch. I'm starved.”

The sisters entered the cafeteria-style restaurant and joined the line in front of the long stainless steel trays of food on offer. Everything looked so colorful, so vibrant—so
wonderful
.

Angelica picked up a tray, a plate, and silverware, and Tricia did likewise, following behind her.

As they inched forward, Tricia looked over the food, including more than a dozen vegetable side dishes. She sized them up while Angelica dived straight into the protein, heaping samples of shrimp, chicken, and beef onto her tray. Tricia chose a tablespoon or two of various cooked vegetables.

“Is that all you're going to have? I thought you said you were starving.”

“I'm still considering my options. There's a salad bar just across the way,” Tricia pointed out.

“This is a
vacation
. You're
supposed
to pig out,” Angelica said, exasperated.

“That's not my style, and you know it,” Tricia said.

Angelica shook her head and added some mashed potatoes to her plate, but avoided the Irish bangers.

Tricia headed for the salad bar, grabbing a bowl, setting it on her tray, and adding greens, a couple of cherry tomatoes, and a slice of cucumber. Nearby were small ramekins of pâté and what a sign promised was duck confit. Now that was a decadent treat. There could only be a couple of tablespoons in the tiny white dish, and she decided to splurge. She caught up with Angelica at the coffee station, poured herself a cup, and then followed her sister to a table by a window. The sea was a bit choppy, but the ship seemed to cut through the waves without jostling a thing.

“So, how was EM's lecture?”

“Tedious,” Angelica said. “I was glad I took a notebook with me. EM must have thought I was writing down her every word, but I was
actually jotting down notes for the next Chamber newsletter. I must remember to take some pictures, although I'm sure I can rely on Ginny and Antonio and the others for some candid shots. Perhaps we'll make it a double issue.”

“It
is
the first trip the Chamber has endorsed,” Tricia said.

“If it's successful, maybe we'll do another one next year,” Angelica said, picking up her fork and diving into her mashed potatoes.

Tricia cut one of her tiny tomatoes in half. “Did EM's lecture include a question-and-answer period?”

“No, which rather surprised me. EM stood at the lectern and did a PowerPoint slideshow chronicling the life of her protagonist. Considering she writes thrillers, her talk was surprisingly dull.”

“Writers are often solitary folks. They work alone for long stretches at a time. I've heard more than one author say she finds speaking to groups painful.”

“Isn't it lucky I was born a social butterfly?” Angelica asked, and laughed.

“I'll say.” Tricia sampled the confit. Wow! Talk about rich
.
She turned back to the veggies and salad before her. “Did you see anybody interesting in the audience?”

Angelica nodded. “I saw Leona Ferguson, Chauncey Porter, Grace, and Mr. Everett, and a few authors with familiar faces—but I can't remember their names—and that was about it.” She attacked the beef on her plate.

“How about Cathy Copper?”

Angelica swallowed. “She was sitting in the front row. I saw her head bob a few times.” She giggled. “I think she may have nodded off. She wasn't the only one.”

“What do you suppose she meant last night when she said EM's life was complicated and that people didn't know she had problems?”

“EM's problem seems to be connecting with her readers on a one-to-one basis,” Angelica said, and picked up her cup for a sip of coffee.

“Do you think she has health concerns?”

Angelica shrugged.

“I bumped into Fiona Sample. She told me she was being interviewed for tomorrow's on-board talk show.”

“How nice. Maybe we can watch it while we eat breakfast tomorrow.”

“I wonder if they'll interview EM.”

“If so, I'd skip it—like I wish I'd skipped her lecture today. You were smart not to attend.”

“I saw her working in the library earlier this morning. She'd even erected a little sign telling people not to disturb her. She had a bit of a run-in with one of her former readers. He seemed to take great pleasure in annoying her.”

“I'm willing to bet he isn't the only one.” Angelica cut off a piece of the chicken breast on her plate and sampled it. She smiled. “Not as good as mine, but not bad.”

Tricia worked on her veggies for a while longer. “Will you be going to the cozy mystery panel this afternoon? Fiona will be there.”

“I haven't decided. Either that, or I might visit the spa. I was considering getting a facial and perhaps a massage. We really need a spa in Stoneham. I'll have to do a feasibility study.” She reached for her purse and pulled out a little notebook not much bigger than a cocktail napkin and jotted down the idea, then turned back to her lunch.

“I wouldn't mind getting a manicure and maybe a pedicure,” Tricia admitted.

“We'll do it together. Maybe Ginny would like to join us. Remind me to ask her.”

“Will do,” Tricia said, and cut one of the baby carrots on her plate in half with her fork, her gaze landing back on the deep blue water
out the window once more. “I'm so surprised how peaceful it feels being out on the ocean.”

“It's not what we see out our shop windows, that's for sure,” Angelica agreed.

“Do you think we'll see dolphins or whales?”

“We might. I know Ginny is hoping she will. Maybe we should have brought binoculars—just in case.”

Angelica cleaned her plate and set down her knife, then noticed the ramekin in front of Tricia. “Was that duck confit?”

“Yes,” Tricia said, nodding.

“Aren't you going to finish it?”

“It was very rich.”

“May I taste it?”

“Be my guest.”

Angelica sampled the fowl. “Oh, that's lovely. And you're not going to finish it?”

Tricia shook her head.

“I think I'd rather have this than a piece of cake.”

No sooner had she scraped the last of the duck from the dish when a uniformed waiter showed up beside them. “Maybe I take your dishes?”

“Yes, thank you,” Tricia said.

Seconds later, the table was cleared and the waiter departed.

“We've still got an hour before the next panel starts,” Tricia said. “I thought I might read for a while longer.”

“I'd like to check out the shops in the arcade.”

“Been there, done that, and I ran into Dori Douglas.”

“Who?”

“Sorry. EM Barstow's fan club president.”

“The woman has a fan club?” Angelica asked, scowling.

“Seems so. It was Dori who sat with EM last night at dinner.”

“Do we have to keep talking about that abominable woman?”

“Sorry, but she's the biggest celebrity on board.”

“I beg to differ. Larry Andrews is more well known than EM Barstow.”

“Who?”

“The famous TV chef. I'm dying to meet him. Maybe he'll get interviewed for the morning talk show, too.”

“Food, food, food. That's all you ever think of,” Tricia accused.

“It is not. I think about business first. And food is a
big
part of my business. That and shoes. I do think about shoes far more than I should. But getting back to food, I wonder if Jake at the Brookview would want to try adding duck confit to the appetizer menu.” She took out her notebook once again and jotted down a few words. “We shall see.”

Tricia pushed back her chair. “I'm going to find a quiet spot to read until the cozy mystery panel starts. Shall I save you a seat?”

“Sure. If I'm late, I'm late.”

“Okay.”

They both got up and headed toward the lifts. “I think I'll take the stairs,” Tricia said, eager to walk off even just a few of her lunch calories.

“Be my guest,” Angelica said, and tottered off on her two-inch heels. At lease those shoes were a tiny bit more sensible than the one's she'd had on the day before.

Tricia walked down two decks and reentered the bar she and Angelica had sat in the night before. A smattering of guests had also chosen it as a quiet place to read.

No sooner had she sat down when a waiter appeared before her. “Can I get you anything, madam?”

“Not now, thank you.”

He nodded and set a napkin on the table before her. She glanced
around. A napkin sat by everyone else who was reading, too. Tricia smiled. It must be a signal that meant
Don't bother this person.

Tricia opened her purse, withdrew
Why Wonder About Murder?
, and settled in for a nice, peaceful read.

She was so caught up in the story that when she looked at her watch she noticed she had only ten minutes to make it down to the ship's theater before the program began. She got up, heading off at a brisk walk.

Tricia entered the cavernous space and walked along the broad green carpeted aisle to sit in the centre section's third row, tossing her sweater onto the seat beside her, saving it for Angelica. Up on the stage was a long table with a white tablecloth that reached the floor. Six chairs sat behind it with placards spelling out the names of the panelists. At the far right was Fiona Sample's name. Those joining her on the panel were Diana Lovell, Norma Fielding, Hannah Travis, and Victoria Burke.

So far only two of them had reached the stage. Tricia recognized them from their Facebook pages: tall and lithe Hannah Travis and the much shorter—“vertically challenged,” the lady had called herself on Facebook—Victoria Burke. Tricia eyed Victoria's jacket with envy, wondering if she could track her down after the panel to ask where she'd purchased it.

Fiona arrived, greeted her fellow panelists, and then turned to the audience. She shielded her eyes from the glare of the klieg lights, spied Tricia, and waved enthusiastically. Tricia waved back.

The program was set to begin in five minutes, and the theater was filling fast. Tricia looked around, but didn't see Angelica among those filing in. Considering afternoon tea was about to begin in the Crystal Ballroom, the authors had attracted quite a crowd.