Scrappy Summer (7 page)

Beatrice would never admit it, but she was also proud of Sheila. She wondered if Sheila’s
mother, Gerty, was doing happy flips in her grave. She had scrimped and saved her
whole life for Sheila to study design in college, and then she’d run off and got married
right out of college, which nearly broke her mother’s heart. You just never knew about
your kids.

Still, there Sheila was, middle-aged and starting anew. It took guts. And talent.
Sheila had always had plenty of both—she just needed to get her bearings.

“Thinking about Sheila again?” Jon said as he walked into the kitchen.

“How did you know that?” she said, looking up from her tea and cookies.

“You always get a sort of happy, bemused look on your face when you think of her these
days,” he said, leaning over, then kissing her cheek. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you,” she said. “But it’s almost supper time, ya know.”

He’d just wakened from one of his long afternoon naps. He was French, and he claimed
it was bred in him to nap. The fact that he was in his seventies had nothing to do
with it, of course.

“Have you heard from Vera?” he asked.

“Not yet. I expect to hear from her today,” Beatrice said. “Lizzie will be home from
day care soon.”

“What kind of cookie is that?”

“It’s just a sugar cookie. Have one. There’s a few on a plate there on the counter.
I made a batch and froze them. Lizzie and I will decorate them later. I might make
pumpkin bread tomorrow.”

“Pumpkin? Mmm.” Jon had fallen in love with pumpkin since he moved to the States.
He’d never had anything pumpkin in France. He bit into the cookie.

“Delicious,” he said, sitting down at the table.

“I have a gingerbread cake in the oven.”

“Ah, that’s what I smell,” he said, clapping his hands together.

Just then the phone rang, and Beatrice answered.

“Hi, Mama,” Vera said. “How’s it going?”

“Fine here. Just baking up a storm, getting ready for Christmas. How’s the cruise?”

Vera didn’t respond right away. Beatrice’s psychic antenna went up.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, really. Please don’t worry too much,” Vera said and then told her about
Sheila falling and the mild concussion.

“Oh, dear,” Beatrice said. “She could be able to still make some of those engagements,
right?”

“We hope. She’s missed a couple already. She had an appointment with an editor of
a design magazine. Had to cancel.”

“Well, now, that sucks,” Bea said. “How did she fall?”

“What do you mean?” Vera asked, her tone a bit forced.

There was more to the story. Bea was sure of it. Did someone push her?

“I mean, I’ve known her as long as I’ve known you, and she’s been a runner for a long
time. How did she fall?”

“She tripped. That’s all.”

“What did she trip on?”

“Oh, Mama, damn you. She tripped over a dead body. Someone was killed on this ship.
We’re on a cruise ship with a bunch of designers, drunks, and at least one murderer.
Did you really need to know all that?” Vera said without taking a breath.

“Humph.”

“Okay, so I know you’re sitting there thinking you told me so, that cruises are nothing
but trouble. But I’ll tell you what. I’m determined to have a good time. No matter
what.”

Bea laughed. She hated cruises, and Vera knew it. No point in arguing with her. There
never was.

Bill, Vera’s ex-husband, walked into the house with their daughter, Lizzie, who was
staying with Beatrice and Jon.

“Grammy!” Lizzie ran up to her and wrapped her arms around Bea’s legs.

“Is that Lizzie?” Vera’s voice softened. “Please put her on.”

“Okay, but you be careful. You hear me?”

“I’m always careful, Mama.”

“Yeah right,” Bea said.
That’s why I’ve had to bail you out of jail, take you to see a shrink, and pull you
out of the river as you dumped your wedding photos in it, standing in your bare feet
in the cold Cumberland Creek River. You’re so careful.

As if she didn’t have enough on her mind, now she was worried about Vera and the others
being out in the middle of God knows where with a killer. Beatrice bit her lip. She
had a bad feeling about this.

But at the same time she had to admit a certain satisfaction. She’d told all of them
not to go. You heard nothing but bad things about cruises these days. Accidents. Disappearances.
Rapes. Now a murder. She was certain it was not the first time a murder was committed
on a cruise. But her only daughter was on this one.

“The people on this cruise are some of the finest scrapbookers and designers in the
business, Mother. It’s not like it’s just any cruise,” Vera had said.

Not just any cruise, indeed.