Title Wave (7 page)

“That's terrible.”

“And that's a lot of books,” Fiona acknowledged. “During the signing after the panel, one of the authors overheard him bragging that he got a terrific discount by booking this cruise just a day ahead of sailing.”

Tricia had heard about such sell-offs. The idea of just picking up and taking a trip on a whim did hold some appeal, but you had to have a carefree lifestyle to pull it off. The Authors at Sea cruise had been her first vacation in years, and if it weren't a Chamber-sponsored tour that her friends and adopted family were taking, she doubted she would have been tempted to leave her cat and her store for a week—even during the slowest time of year.

“Can't you report Arnold to the publishers?”

“It's been done—a number of times. Somehow he always knows when the publicists leave and manages to sweet-talk the new ones into adding him again. He's been doing it for years. He had us all sign those books in his basket—just our names. You can bet they'll be offered for sale before the sun sets after we dock.”

Tricia shook her head. She didn't want to think about that sorry little man. “How's your family?”

Fiona's eyes lit up. There wasn't any better question to ask a mom who was proud of her kids, and Fiona launched into a joyful tale that had Tricia laughing until she had to wipe her eyes. It was no wonder the woman was a
New York Times
bestselling author. She could tell a damn fine story.

“I'm sorry to have monopolized the conversation. Tell me, what's been going on with you?” Fiona asked.

“There's not much to tell,” Tricia said. “I have a new assistant since you last visited, and she's a big fan of your work.”

“Oh, that's nice.”

Tricia could have mentioned the fire that nearly destroyed her store, and the death of her ex-husband, but decided to keep the conversation light. “I'm going to reconfigure my storeroom into living space this spring. It'll be messy and time consuming, and no doubt cost double my contractor's estimate, but I can't wait to start.”

“That sounds lovely,” Fiona said.

Their coffee was long gone when Tricia checked her watch. “Good grief—the fruit sculpting must nearly be over with by now. Angelica will wonder where I've disappeared to.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you.”

“Don't worry, Angelica is a big girl. She can navigate on her own—much better than either of us, I'm sure.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“I will.”

They stood. “See you later,” Fiona said, and headed aft.

Tricia retraced her steps to the Garden Lounge. She had a few stories to share with Angelica and again wondered about the disagreeable Mr. Arnold Smith. He'd already antagonized EM. Was he likely to do the same to others?

By the
time Tricia and Angelica made it to the Kells Grill, they found the rest of their party already seated, and another bottle of bubbly had been ordered. Dori Douglas gave Tricia a smile and a wave as they joined Ginny, Antonio, Grace, and Mr. Everett. EM Barstow had not yet made an appearance, and Tricia dreaded an exhibition like the one they'd witnessed the night before.

“Did you have a nice day?” Dori called to Tricia.

“Very nice, thank you. And you?”

“Wonderful.”

Tricia nodded and reached for her napkin.

“Emmie isn't joining me for dinner tonight, so you should have a much more peaceful meal.”

“Oh,” Tricia said, and stole a glance at Angelica. Was Dori fishing for an invitation to join them?

“She's working tonight. She's eager to finish at least another chapter
of her work in progress before she's called upon to do any more appearances during the voyage.”

“How nice,” Angelica said, and turned her attention to the champagne bottle that Antonio held to fill her glass.

“Should I invite her to join us?” Tricia muttered.

“I wish you wouldn't,” Angelica said without moving her lips. Was ventriloquism another of her talents?

The waiter arrived with a plate and set it before Dori, who gave him a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice dinner,” Angelica said, and turned her attention to the others at their table. “I'm so glad you and Grace could join us tonight, Mr. Everett. Did you have a nice day?”

“Outstanding,” Mr. Everett said, sounding jovial. “Grace told me about the wonderful cruises she'd been on in the past, but I never thought I would enjoy it as much as I have so far.”

They spent the next ten minutes comparing notes on the various events they'd all enjoyed, then got down to the serious business of choosing their dinner appetizers, entrées, and desserts. Meanwhile, Dori had finished her meal, and gazed out the window at the darkened sea . . . eavesdropping?

Cristophano was again their waiter and stood with his little pad ready to write down their orders.

“I'll have the caviar for my appetizer, the salmon tartare for my entrée, and the mango and passion fruit crème brûlée for dessert. And, oh, my goodness—doesn't that sound decadent?” Angelica asked, practically glowing.

“I'll skip the appetizer and have the endive salad,” Tricia said.

“No appetizer?”

Tricia shook her head.

“Dessert?” Cristophano asked hopefully.

Again, Tricia shook her head.

“That's not all you're having for dinner, is it?” Ginny asked.

“Lunch was very filling. That's all I need.”

“This is
supposed
to be a vacation,” Angelica admonished.

Antonio held up a hand. “My dear Angelica. Tricia knows what she wants and needs.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said, handing the menu back to Cristophano.

“Well, I'm with Angelica. This is my vacation, and since I don't have to cook, I'm going to enjoy everything I can, because we'll be back to soup and sandwiches when we get home,” Ginny said, and proceeded to order caviar, roast duck, and butter pecan ice cream.

Tricia had to admit, her mouth was watering at all the wonderful dinner selections her tablemates made, yet she felt confident in her decision. She didn't want to wage a battle of the cruise ship bulge upon returning home.

Once their orders had been taken, Antonio refilled their flutes and conversation commenced once again.

“For such a big boat, I seem to keep running into the same people all day long,” Ginny observed.

“Me, too,” Angelica agreed.

“What was your favorite part of the day?” Ginny asked Mr. Everett.

“The cozy authors' panel. Those ladies know how to have a good time.”

“Oh, yes,” Grace agreed.

“I didn't see you there,” Tricia said. “We could have sat together.”

“We were in one of the boxes on the starboard side,” Grace said. “I must admit, it was great fun to sit there in our own little private area. I understand during the theatrical presentations that one can order champagne and hors d'oeuvres.”

“What was your least favorite part of the day?” Angelica asked Mr. Everett.

He scowled. “EM Barstow's talk. It was Grace who was interested in hearing her speak. I only went along to keep her company.”

“I have to admit, it wasn't my favorite part of the day,” Grace said. “She is a strange duck, isn't she?”

“It wasn't the highlight of my day, either,” Angelica agreed, and sipped her wine.

Tricia cringed as Dori's head now seemed cocked in their direction.

“She doesn't seem to know how to relate to people in general—and her fans in particular,” Mr. Everett observed.

“Perhaps she suffers from autism spectrum disorder,” Grace said.

Tricia's eyes widened. “You know, that's an astute observation.” Thinking it over, Tricia reconsidered her negative feelings about the woman. Having a disorder didn't exactly excuse EM's behavior, but it certainly explained it.

A look in Dori's direction confirmed that she was definitely listening to their conversation. Would she share Grace's speculation with EM? Did it matter? Still, Tricia would feel terrible if EM sought her out and gave her a public tongue-lashing. She decided to change the subject, but was spared when the appetizers arrived at the table.

All but Tricia tucked in with evident delight.

“Would you like to try the caviar?” Ginny asked Tricia. “I've got plenty.”

“That's very sweet of you, but I'm fine, thanks.

Dori pushed back her chair and rose. Tricia caught her gaze and smiled. Dori nodded and left the restaurant, allowing Tricia to breathe a sigh of relief.

Angelica tapped Tricia's arm. “I'd forgotten she was sitting right there. Do you think she heard our conversation?”

“I'm sure of it.”

“Well, we didn't say anything particularly nasty.”

“No, we didn't,” Ginny agreed.

“I don't understand,” Grace said.

“EM Barstow's assistant was sitting at the next table,” Tricia explained.

“Oh, no!” Grace said, her expression troubled.

“I'm sure she's heard worse—perhaps even thought or said it herself,” Angelica said defensively.

A pall seemed to settle over the table. EM Barstow had that ability—even when she wasn't physically present.

Tricia noticed Mr. Everett taking in the faces around him. “I suggest we have a toast. To happiness. Perhaps we should all try to spread a little more of it around.”

“I'm all for that,” Ginny said.

They raised their glasses and then drank.

Talk turned to the next day's events and the upcoming port call to Bermuda, but Tricia found she didn't have the enthusiasm to join in. Why should she feel guilty that the conversation had turned to EM with Dori listening in? She hadn't participated in it and had made only one comment.

Mr. Everett was right. They were on a wonderful vacation with great speakers and silly events—like the fruit and veggie carving—and Tricia was determined to enjoy it.

If she could allow herself to do so.

*   *   *

After they
said good night to Ginny, Antonio, Grace, and Mr. Everett, it was Tricia who suggested she and Angelica try out another of the ship's bars that evening. “Sounds like fun,” Angelica said.

This time, they went to the Yacht Club, which was sedate and as sparsely populated as the Portside Bar. They took seats facing each other, separated by a small wooden table.

“Where do you think everybody goes in the evenings?” Angelica asked.

“Probably sitting in their rooms reading,” Tricia offered.

“Maybe we should check out the disco—or the Lucky Shamrock Casino.”

Tricia wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “That's not my kind of scene.”

“It used to be mine,” Angelica admitted sadly, “but I guess you're right. The music would probably be loud enough to damage our hearing in the disco, and you may as well flush your money directly down the toilet as gamble, the way the odds are stacked for the house.”

A waitress came by. “May I get you ladies anything?”

“What shall we drink tonight?” Angelica asked, her eyes widening with pleasure.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“How about a cosmopolitan. I haven't had one of those in years.”

“Make that two,” Tricia said, but before she could get out her keycard, Angelica had already surrendered her own.”

“Very good,” the waitress said, and turned away.

“I was going to get that.”

“You can get the next round,” Angelica said, and leaned back into her chair. “So, what's on your mind tonight?”

“I spent the last couple of days before we came on the trip thinking about the future.”

“Oh?” Angelica said, leaning forward with interest.

“Now that I own the building that houses Haven't Got a Clue, I was thinking about how I could better use the space.” It occurred to Tricia that she'd spilled the story to Fiona before she'd even discussed it with her own sister.

“Really? What did you have in mind?”

“Converting my storeroom into another floor of living quarters.”

“What would you do with your extra stock?”

“I was thinking about converting the basement into a stock/workroom. It's just sitting there doing nothing. I spoke to Jim Stark, and he thinks he could do it in a matter of weeks.”

Angelica leaned forward and rested a hand on Tricia's arm. “I'm so glad to hear you making plans for the future. After Christopher's death, I was afraid you might decide living in Stoneham was too painful.”

“Sometimes it is. But the truth is, it was
my
home for much longer than it was his. My friends are in Stoneham—and so is my family. I have no intention of leaving.”

Angelica's eyes glistened. “It
is
home, isn't it?”

Tricia nodded, smiling. “I thought about buying a house or a condo, but I really don't want to leave Main Street. I like the area. It's so pretty in the summer with all the flowers. And it's vibrant, too.”

“In the winter,” Angelica ventured, “not so much. What were you thinking of doing to the building?”

“Moving the kitchen and living room down to the second floor and building a master suite with a spa-like bathroom upstairs.”

“That sounds fabulous! I hope you're going to let me help you redecorate.”

“I was hoping you might volunteer.”

“I may just steal the whole idea. Honestly, I've never lived in such cramped quarters as I do now. And it would give Sarge a whole new place to run around and play.”

“Miss Marple pretty much has the run of the building, but I sometimes worry about her getting shut into the storeroom. This would eliminate that problem.”

The waitress arrived with their drinks and returned Angelica's keycard. She signed the receipt and picked up her glass. “Here's to your beautiful new digs.”

“And yours, too!” They clinked glasses and drank.

“That was a lovely toast Mr. Everett gave at dinner. He's right, of course, too. We should try to spread a little more happiness.”

“Nigela Ricita seems to do that every day.”

“Well, I'm sure she tries,” Angelica said, and winked.

“Let's hope this new phase of our lives means a lot less trouble and strife.”

“I'm for that,” Angelica agreed. “And let's never hear those dreaded words
village jinx
again.”

Tricia managed a wry smile. “I'm taking a vow of total disinterest in real crime and turning all my attention to that on the written page only.”

“Good for you. They say curiosity killed the cat—and I don't want that happening to you, too.” Angelica raised her glass and they drank on it.

Tricia sipped her cosmopolitan.
No one will ever call me the village jinx again
, she thought smugly, then frowned.

Had she just jinxed herself?