Title Wave (3 page)

“Why did you pick the diet dinner?” Angelica asked Tricia.

“Diet?”

“Yes, the spa offering is the diet meal. Didn't you see the calories and fat grams listed?”

Tricia shrugged. “Lamb just appealed to me tonight.”

Angelica shook her head. “If I can reintroduce a topic,” she began. “What's everybody going to do first thing in the morning?”

“I want to check out the library. I heard they've got something like six thousand books available for checkout,” Tricia said. “Although I
have a feeling it'll concentrate on bestsellers—and probably heavier on those from the U.K. and Europe.”

“It would have been nice if we could have boarded earlier and done a walk-through of the ship,” Angelica agreed. “But we've got two days at sea before we reach Bermuda.”

“I was hoping to do a little poolside reading,” Ginny said, “but it won't be warm enough until we get farther south. I'm going to check out the Daily Program tonight and then make my decision. Besides lectures, there are supposed to be some author signings, as well as a number of interesting panel discussions. Just being away from the pressures of the job will be nice.”

“But I thought you enjoyed your work,” Angelica said, sounding genuinely concerned. After all, Ginny worked for her—at least in her Nigela Ricita capacity.

“I
do
love it,” she insisted. “But working with a baby—even with spectacular day care—is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“Well, you're doing a very good job,” Angelica said, which made Antonio beam as well.

Their dinners arrived and everyone dug in. The food was superb, and they were engrossed in their entrées when the dinner plates arrived at EM's table. Tricia tried not to look like she was taking an interest, but after the drama they'd already witnessed, she found it hard to take her eyes off the back of EM's head. She watched as the woman took her first bite—and then spit it out on her plate.

“You call this lobster? It tastes like sashimi—and cheap sashimi, at that!” EM declared.

“You're making yet another scene,” the woman across from her grated.

“Waiter!” EM called. A chagrined female server returned to stand before the tactless author. “Take this away.”

“I'm so sorry you're displeased. What may I bring you?”

“Bring me a bowl of soup—and some bread. You can't screw up bread, can you?”

“No, madam.” The server quickly removed the plate and hurried away from the table.

The woman across from EM took a bite of her dinner. “I told you to get the beef. Mine is excellent.”

“You have an unsophisticated palate.
I'm
the gourmand here.”

As though in defiance, the woman shoveled an enormous forkful into her mouth and chewed.

A nervous Cristophano showed up at the table. “Is everything to your liking? May I get you anything?”

“I don't know about the others,” Angelica said, grinning broadly, “but my lobster is superb.”

“The lamb is excellent,” Tricia chimed in.

“The beef is cooked to perfection,” Antonio said, and Ginny nodded, as well.

“May I refill your glasses?” Cristophano asked.

“Yes, please,” Angelica said, and lifted hers.

EM must have heard them, for her back had stiffened. She grabbed the napkin from her lap and threw it on the table. “I believe I'll go back to my stateroom and order room service,” she said, and got up from the table. “I'll see you later, Dori.”

The woman was still shoveling food into her mouth and had no opportunity to answer before EM stormed from the dining room. The rest of the Kells Grill patrons seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

“Well, now,” Angelica began, “let's see if we can now start to
really
enjoy our meals.”

Tricia glanced at EM's dinner companion, who sported what could only be called a shit-eating grin.

Angelica wasn't
about to be cheated out of the martini she'd craved for most of the day. Antonio and Ginny were reluctant to leave Sofia alone any longer that evening, so Angelica turned sad eyes on Tricia.

“Oh, all right,” she acquiesced.

“We will say good night,” Antonio said, stood, and pulled back Ginny's chair.

“See you in the morning,” Ginny called.

The sisters watched the couple leave the restaurant.

No sooner had the heavy glass doors closed behind them when Angelica reached for her purse and retrieved the little map that had come in the tiny folder along with her keycard. She unfolded it and squinted, then grabbed her reading glasses. “Did you know there are five bars on the ship?”

“No, I didn't.” And Tricia probably didn't need to, either. Still,
during the past year she had patronized the Dog-Eared Page back in Stoneham. She was friendly with the pub's manager and liked the bartender, and she loved the air of conviviality the place promoted. “Where would you like to go?”

“The Commodore Club looks pretty big, but after the day I've had, I don't think I'm in the mood for crowds. And the Golden Harp is more a pub than a true bar.”

“What about the Portside Bar?” Tricia said, pointing to Deck 3 midship on the map. “That looks rather intimate.”

“I'm game.”

They got up and left the table, heading for the lifts.

In the Portside Bar several people sat on plush, upholstered stools at the dark wood bar, but Angelica chose to settle on a loveseat in a corner. Tricia took the adjacent chair, admiring the heavy brocaded fabric. The bar was decorated in soft shades of gold and green, and several locked cabinets nearby sported memorabilia from the ocean liner's parent company's glory days the century before. She decided she'd have to return another time to take a closer look, and idly wondered if there was a book in the ship's library about a murder taking place on one of the great ocean liners from a time gone by—perhaps the
Normandie
, or the
Queen Mary
. Such a tale, steeped in the lore of the great days of ocean travel, could be a fun read.

Soon a waitress in a white uniform with green piping, and a tray in hand, approached them. “Good evening, ladies. Can I get you anything?”

“Yes, thank you,” Angelica said, her smile filled with anticipation. “A dry gin martini, up, with olives.”

“And the gin?”

Angelica thought about it for a moment. “Hendrick's.”

The waitress turned to Tricia.

“What the heck. I'll have the same, please.”

Angelica beamed at Tricia in approval as she surrendered her keycard to the waitress, who turned and headed back to the bar. “Isn't this an elegant room?”

Tricia nodded.

“I wonder if it would be feasible to put an addition onto the Brookview Inn with the same kind of ambience.”

“Wouldn't that detract from people patronizing the Dog-Eared Page?”

“It would be a different clientele. I must speak to Antonio about it tomorrow.”

Angelica's head rose and she seemed to be looking around Tricia, who turned to see EM Barstow enter the bar, her laptop in hand, and accompanied by someone other than her assistant.

Angelica scowled. “Oh, dear.”

“I guess EM skipped dinner altogether,” Tricia said.

The woman who'd joined EM was younger than the thriller author by at least three decades. Her shoulder-length brown hair needed a trim, but her black slacks and matching suit jacket were better defined
smart casual
than EM's riotous caftan. They settled at a loveseat across the way, and EM opened her laptop. Tricia turned back to Angelica. “Looks like a business meeting.”

“I'm betting a lot of business will be discussed on this cruise. I intend to start networking tomorrow. How about you?”

“I'd like to line up some of the mystery authors to come sign at Haven't Got a Clue, but we're a little off the beaten track for most of them.”

“That's true. But if nothing else, you could encourage them to give you their bookmarks to pass out. It's a great way to engender reader loyalty for them
and
for you.”

“Good point.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, setting out cocktail
napkins with an image of the ship engraved upon them, returning Angelica's keycard, and giving her the charge receipt to sign. She did so, and the woman accepted the slip and turned to leave.

Angelica picked up her glass. “What shall we drink to?”

Tricia clasped her glass and thought about it for a few moments. “How about the wonderful friendships we've found in our adopted home of Stoneham?”

“Oh, that's terrific. To our friends.”

They clinked glasses and took a sip. Tricia had never tasted Hendrick's Gin before. It was a revelation. “Wow, that's a damn fine martini.”

“Isn't it, though?” Angelica said, smiling. And then her gaze seemed to be diverted once again to the part of the bar where EM and the other woman were sitting.

“Is something going on?” Tricia asked.

“EM and her friend seem to be having a little bit of a disagreement.”

Tricia turned. Angelica might be right. EM's body language suggested she was more than a tad upset. She'd pushed up her sleeves, and Tricia could see she sported what looked like bands of a drab gray fabric that covered both wrists. It seemed an odd fashion statement.

EM's companion's expression seemed serious, but resolute.

The sisters watched for another half minute before EM rather forcefully closed the lid of her laptop, rose from her seat, and stormed out of the bar, leaving her guest still sitting there, looking like she'd just swallowed a bitter pill.

“That's not surprising, considering what a nasty piece of work EM is.”

Angelica raised a hand and waved.

“What are you doing?” Tricia asked.

“Asking that woman to join us.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Seconds later, the woman in black stood before them. “I'm sorry. Do I know you?”

“I'm Angelica Miles, and this is my sister, Tricia.”

“I'm Cathy Copper.”

“You're a friend of EM's?” Tricia asked.

“Actually, I'm her editor.”

“Oh, how nice,” Angelica said, smiling. “Won't you join us for a drink?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Tricia, can you get the waitress's attention?” Angelica asked.

Tricia looked up, raised a hand, and waved to catch the woman's eye. Cathy took the chair to Angelica's left and sat down. In no time, the waitress arrived.

“What would you like?” Angelica asked.

“Just a Diet Coke, thanks.”

The waitress nodded and waited for Angelica to once again surrender her keycard before heading back to the bar.

“Have you worked with EM long?” Tricia asked, and took another sip of her drink.

“This is our second book together,” Cathy said, but she didn't sound pleased.

“Oh?” Tricia prompted.

“I'm not sure we see eye to eye on where the series should go.”

“Shouldn't that issue be entirely up to the author?” Tricia said, surprised by the editor's response. “I mean, she's the one with the vision for her characters.”

“You'd think,” Cathy said.

Tricia studied the woman's face. There was a tightness around her mouth, and for some reason Tricia wasn't sure she liked this person.

Angelica gave a forced laugh. “Has EM grown tired of writing the series?”

“Yes,” Cathy said, her voice growing hard.

“Does she plan to kill off her hero?” Tricia asked.

“I'm not at liberty to say. But let's just say her previous ventures into other characters and series have not been as successful as her current work.”

Tricia knew about that. EM had written another mystery series, set in nineteenth-century Philadelphia, with a scullery maid turned amateur sleuth that had not resonated with readers. It had died after only three books—which was the litmus test for the success of a mystery series.

Angelica deftly changed the subject. “Is this your first cruise?”

“Yes,” Cathy admitted. “I've never done anything like this before.”

“The
Celtic Lady
is a beautiful ship,” Angelica said.

Cathy nodded in agreement, her expression bland. “I guess. This line is a bit stodgy for someone my age.”

“Are you saying we're all old farts?” Angelica asked, straight-faced, but Tricia knew that tone of voice.

“Most of the passengers
are
of a certain age—and older,” Cathy commented.

It was true that Tricia was probably twenty years her senior, so did Cathy include her in that assessment? A person like that probably couldn't begin to appreciate the experience of her elders—nor was she likely to learn from their mistakes, either.

“I'm assuming your employer sent you on this cruise,” Angelica said.

“Yes,” Cathy said, craning her neck—perhaps to see if her drink was on the horizon. “This isn't exactly
my
idea of a vacation.”

“How sad,” Tricia said.

“What do you mean?”

“That you can't find some enjoyment on this trip.”

“I didn't say
that
,” Cathy said defensively. “After all, this is only the first night out.”

“I do hope you'll find
something
you enjoy on our voyage,” Angelica said sweetly, and again Tricia knew that tone.

“If nothing else, the food seems pretty good.”

“Where did you dine?”

“In the Emerald Isle Restaurant. My company stuck me in one of the cheapest rooms. I've got an inside cabin—not a window in sight.”

“Oh, dear,” Angelica said without sympathy.

The waitress arrived with the soft drink and the slip for Angelica to sign, then returned her keycard.

Tricia struggled to come up with another topic. “Are you scheduled for any panels?”

“Yes,” Cathy said. “There are several other editors on board, and we're to speak on the first sea day on the trip back to New York.”

“What will you do in the meantime?” Angelica asked.

“Try to convince my author to change her mind on the direction of her series,” Cathy grated.

Had the editor said more than she ought to to people she didn't really know? Well, that was the problem with such a young person being assigned to a seasoned author. The author really
did
have a better feel for her series and characters than someone who'd only been given the assignment to shepherd a book to publication. After all, there were many, many series that Tricia had read where it was apparent that the author had lost interest in her characters long before the publisher was willing to let it go. And EM's most recent editor was far younger than herself. Had EM been insulted to be assigned such a greenhorn? Tricia would have felt that way, and was glad she was able to just read and enjoy the books in her favorite genre and not have to actually write them.

Cathy sipped her diet cola.

Angelica and Tricia sipped their martinis.

Time seemed to pass achingly slowly.

“So, why are you ladies on this little junket?” Cathy finally asked.

“We're booksellers,” Tricia answered. “My sister”—she nodded toward Angelica—“owns a cookbook store. I own a mystery bookstore.”

“Oh?” Cathy asked, sounding halfway interested.

“As a matter of fact, EM Barstow once came to sign at my store.”

“Was she terribly rude to you and your staff?” Cathy asked, her eyebrows narrowing.

“Just a tad,” Tricia lied.

“EM leads a very complicated life. She doesn't let the world in general know about her difficulties, but she has no problem taking them out on others, either.”

“Oh?” Angelica asked.

“It's not my place to speak about it.”

“Of course not,” Angelica said, obviously disappointed.

Cathy practically gulped the last of her drink and set the glass on the cocktail table before them. “Thank you, ladies. It was very nice talking with you.”

“We're glad you could join us,” Angelica said, smiling.

“Yes. I hope we'll have another chance to speak before the end of our voyage,” Tricia said with false sincerity.

“I'm sure we will.” Cathy stood. “Until then, have a nice evening.”

“You, too,” the sisters chorused, and watched the editor leave the bar, her gait a bit wobbly. Had she had a drink before she'd joined them?

It was Tricia who turned to her sister and spoke first. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”

“Yes. Wasn't it?” Angelica agreed. She removed the frill pick from her drink, snagged the first of two queen olives, chewed, and swallowed. “You know, I have the world's best editor. He has cut me an enormous amount of slack—especially this past year when I've had so much on my plate. I don't think I'd like to be one of Cathy Copper's authors.”