by Carolyn Hart
Jimmy’s face was unguarded. He looked toward me. “I knew she would come.”
It wasn’t the answer Sophia wanted. She stood frozen.
“Sophia.” His tone was insistent. He moved toward her, a good man with a kind face, and looked into her eyes. “You are my wife. I don’t want you to die.”
Sophia drew in a quick breath. The tight muscles of her face loosened. She shook her head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Deadly serious.” He reached out, grabbed her hand. “And Henrie O can help us.”
Sophia held tight to his hand. She gave me a not-quite-convinced look, but slowly the tension eased from her body. “It’s crazy. Nobody tried to kill me. Jimmy thinks Frank’s kids want money at all costs. I don’t believe that. I’m amazed he convinced you. I’m afraid you’ve traveled all this way for no reason. I don’t think one of Frank’s children is trying to kill me. For one thing, I don’t intend to restrict their income even if I don’t dissolve the trusts now. They’ve gotten along very well on that income—”
I understood her conclusion, but apparently it hadn’t occurred to her that the prospect of total possession of a substantial sum of money might make the income seem paltry in comparison. As Kent had told his sister, it was their money.
“—in the past. Moreover, how can I be in danger on the ship?” She gestured down toward the pool deck. Early sunbathers occupied the front row of deck chairs. The breaststroker continued to bob back and forth across the pool. Stewards carried trays with coffee and juice. “There are people everywhere and Jimmy is with me in the cabin. I’ll decide what to do about the trusts and wire the lawyer before the trip is over. What could possibly happen?”
I looked at the populated deck. Sophia was right. There were always people everywhere.
Jimmy nodded reluctant agreement. “It seems safe enough. Besides, I may be wrong. Maybe that rock rolled on its own. Maybe Evelyn stumbled. Maybe. But it’s passing strange we’ve never had a bouncing boulder before. Stranger still that the rock came down precisely at eight o’clock when you were on the way to your office and the house was full of people who’ll be a lot richer if you die. The point is that I don’t believe in coincidences. You didn’t think it was a coincidence Henrie O was on this ship. You were right. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that boulder almost killed you. I think somebody pushed it. Evelyn. Alex. Madge. Kent. Rosie. Val. It had to be one of them. But”—and he looked at her eagerly—“there’s an easy solution. Give them their money, announce it tonight, turn this into a real holiday, tell them the trusts will be liquidated.”
Sophia drew herself up, slim and straight, the lift of her chin imperious. She reminded me of a cat, elegant and certain. “I won’t be intimidated. Or cajoled. Frank wanted me to do what was right for his children. I intend to fulfill my responsibility. Although they certainly aren’t making it easy. If I weren’t terribly patient, I’d simply e-mail the lawyer that the trusts should continue in force. I certainly may do that for Kent. He stood me up this morning. You might tell him since you feel so strongly about their inheritances”—her glance at Jimmy was sardonic—“that it would be in his best interest to show up tonight.” She turned and walked away.
Jimmy shot me a look of frustration. He made a helpless gesture with his hands and hurried after Sophia.
I watched them go, feeling both irritated and uneasy. Sophia refused to believe she might be in danger. Sophia—
“Who does Jimmy think he is, accusing us of trying to do away with her?” The sharp, waspish voice startled me. “That’s what I want to know.”
I looked around to see Madge Riordan’s petulant face. Spiky blond hair was fashionable above the soft pink of a mini-cable sweater. The pink was echoed in anchor appliqués down the outside seams of white slacks. Young and well dressed, she would have been attractive except for the hardness in her eyes and the droop of a discontented mouth.
I didn’t find Madge appealing. I was tempted to warn her that a mean spirit would leave an indelible imprint by the time she was forty and all the king’s horses and all the king’s beauticians would be to no avail. Instead, I raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Do you often eavesdrop?”
Madge wasn’t fazed. Her thin lips curled in a derisive smile. “Only when necessary. What’s Jimmy up to? Why is he trying to convince Sophia somebody pushed that boulder?”
I met her angry stare. “As you heard”—she appeared oblivious to insult—“he doesn’t believe in coincidences. Why did that boulder come down—and just the one boulder—at precisely the moment Sophia was walking to her office?”
Madge gave a disdainful shrug but her eyes were uneasy. “That’s silly. Coincidences happen all the time. Anyway, at least Jimmy’s on the right track about the money. It’s ours, not hers. Who’s she to decide whether we get it?”
“Sophia’s simply trying”—I felt a certain irony in finding myself defending her—“to do what Frank Riordan wanted. It might work out if his children made an effort to get along with her.”
“You got that right.” Madge’s face was glum. “I told Alex to keep his mouth shut about his deals. He always has great ideas about how to make money. At least he thinks they’re great.” She was clearly not into the role of supportive spouse. “He won’t listen to anybody.” Her resentment was apparent. “This latest one’s sooo bogus, a Brazilian who’s got a plan on how to corner the wireless market in China. I told him to play it cool, tell her he was thinking of going back to school. That always sounds good. And what did he do? He starts drawing on a napkin, explaining how he’s going to take the five mil and use it to get a ten-mil loan and then he and Eugenio would set up shop in Beijing. Of course, she wanted to know all about Eugenio and a business plan and what bankers and what investors and whether private or public and about a hundred questions Alex couldn’t answer.”
“Maybe Alex can tell her he’s been thinking about her questions and they’ve made him realize the plan would need a good deal more work.” I doubted this approach would salvage Alex’s situation, but it wouldn’t do any harm for Madge to see me as an ally.
“Maybe Sophia will turn into a fairy godmother. I don’t think so.” Madge’s tone was discouraged. “Sophia thinks Alex is an idiot. If that’s not bad enough, Kent didn’t show up this morning. I was sitting across the room, keeping an eye on her. I thought maybe I’d see how Kent did with her, and if she was in a good mood, Alex could talk to her, explain he’d had some second thoughts like you said. Alex wouldn’t roust his rear out of bed. He knows he messed up, but his motto is never to let on that he’s not the smartest guy around. I told him what I thought—”
Her voice was shrill. I wondered if Alex had burrowed his head beneath his pillow, lain there unmoving, defeated and defensive.
“—and I slammed out of there and came up by myself. Instead of Kent schmoozing her into a better mood, he blew her off. She gave him ten minutes. I mean, you know how queens are. You better not be late. Ten minutes was all she was willing to wait. She threw down her napkin and got up without eating a bite. I wondered what she was going to do. I thought maybe she’d go bang on Kent’s door.” Madge brightened. “I thought maybe that wouldn’t be a bad deal. If she got really mad at Kent, maybe she wouldn’t be thinking about Alex. She was so mad I didn’t have to worry about her spotting me coming along behind. When we got almost down to our deck, Jimmy was heading up the opposite stairs, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was noticing him. That got her attention all right.” Madge’s giggle was knowing. “It was like watching a cartoon character and the little balloon above her head. She wanted to know where he was going. She hurried down and went to the other staircase. I came right along behind. We ended up here.” She looked around the promenade, shading her eyes. “She stood over there”—Madge pointed—“and watched you two like a hawk looking at a couple of rats. For a minute, when she busted up your twosome, I thought maybe we were all off the hook. If Jimmy was screwing around on her, she’d be
too furious to care about the Riordans. No such luck. Instead, Jimmy’s got her thinking about us again. If Alex weren’t such a fool, she’d probably give him a thumbs-up. Like I told him, Sophia wants to feel sure none of them are going to run through the money or act stupid with it. You know, gamble or do drugs. But now she thinks Alex is a financial idiot, and who knows what she thinks about Kent. He’s such a fool. All he had to do was have breakfast with her!” Madge planted her elbows on the railing and stared moodily out at the water.
I remembered Kent’s bitterness at Tivoli. “Why does Kent hate Sophia?”
Madge’s face wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “Nobody talks about it. She had something to do with his breakup with his girlfriend. But so what! He can pick up five million dollars if he plays it right. All he has to do is suck it up and be nice to her on this trip.”
Obviously Madge would have cheerfully breakfasted with the devil for five million dollars.
“His girlfriend?” I didn’t like asking. It felt like a betrayal of a nice young man with a sensitive face. I could hear Kent’s anguished voice against the background of laughter at Tivoli:…I didn’t know I could hate anyone as much as I hate her.
“Yeah. Kent fell like a ton of bricks for this floozy he met at some bar. Heather was a bartender. He thought she was wonderful, working there nights after a sales job all day so she could make enough money to take care of a younger brother. She and the kid brother had lit out from someplace in Kansas, ended up in San Francisco. Kent was talking about marrying her and Sophia said his father would be appalled at his marrying somebody from nowhere and a lower-class background.” There was no sympathy in Madge’s voice. Kent and Kent’s life didn’t matter to her, not unless his actions impinged on what she wanted for Alex.
“Jimmy didn’t tell me about Heather.” There was no reason for Jimmy to have mentioned Heather, but I was confident Madge in her utter self-absorption wouldn’t bother to wonder at my comment.
She yawned. “Heather’s history. She’s probably picked up another hunk with money by this time.” Her shrug was dismissive. “Heather was pretty.” Her tone was grudging. “She seemed kind of like a sweet kid.”
I was puzzled. “Why would breaking up with Heather make Kent mad at Sophia?”
“That’s what I asked Alex and he told me to mind my own business.” She tossed her head in irritation. “Ever since he broke up with Heather, Kent’s refused to have anything to do with Sophia. He’s mooned around like a kid. That’s stupid. There are plenty of fish in the sea. Kent needs to get over it, find somebody else.”
I stared at her. Find somebody else. Pick another card out of the deck, never mind that your heart is crushed.
She was truly puzzled. “He’s good-looking. Why doesn’t he pick up a girl on the ship? I wish Alex and I had found somebody for him. If he had a new girlfriend, he’d get over being mad at Sophia. Instead he’s ticked her off. And there may be a big bust-up tonight. Anyway”—her brows drew down in a frown—“you tell Jimmy to stop all this stuff about one of us pushing a boulder down the cliff.”
I logged on. I started, stopped, deleted, knew the clock was ticking on the charges. E-mails have a lot in common with shouts from a soapbox. You’d better be sure you don’t mind who’s listening. Finally, I typed fast, knowing I wouldn’t want this message seen, yet determined to find out what I could.
Dear Margaret,
Kent Riordan, younger son of Frank, had a girlfriend named Heather. She apparently worked as a bartender. I know, needle in a haystack. See if you can find out her name, get as much personal info as possible, including close friend or confidant. Particularly interested in circumstances of Kent and Heather’s breakup. Thanks, Henrie O
I logged off. I stopped on my way out to get a squish of hand sanitizer. Any keyboard used by the public was sure to be rife with more germs than I cared to contemplate. Containers of the antiseptic liquid were scattered about the ship, a reminder of the viruses that often waylay seaborne passengers and create headlines cruise ship directors hate to see.
I wished the cleansing liquid could sanitize my somber mood. I’d dealt with one unhappy episode and now I needed to deal with another. I hadn’t had time to tell Jimmy about Vic, but I doubted Sophia would respond cheerfully to any further intervention by me. Yet I felt compelled to do something. I understood sorrow and I foresaw nothing but pain if Sophia expected a cheerful celebration on this date.
Why a party tonight? Of course, it was her birthday. Had Sophia so dismissed Vic’s death from her mind that she didn’t recall the date? Or, worse, was she blind to enduring grief?
Whatever her reasoning, the dinner should be rescheduled. Someone needed to talk to Jimmy, ask him to intervene. Rosie Riordan would be the best person to ask.
10
I called Rosie’s cabin. No answer. I started at the top of the ship, checked the sundeck, then returned to Deck 10. I strolled past the computer area to look over the scattering of leather chairs and small tables that faced the huge windows at the bow, affording a panoramic view of the sea. Only a few places were taken, a woman knitting, her hands flashing with grace, an elderly man in a shabby tweed jacket and baggy trousers studying the morning news digest compiled by the ship personnel.
I took the promenade to the stern area and stepped into the library. Every chair was taken. There was the hush of good manners, only an occasional rustle of sound to mark the turning of pages. Had I truly been on a holiday, I too would have browsed the collection of histories, travelogues, and guidebooks.
I returned to the promenade and walked down a curving outside staircase. Swimmers splashed in the pool. The deck glistened from a recent wash. The informal dining room aft was closed except for the coffee and tea bar. Rosie wasn’t in that short line. The hamburger stand near the pool hadn’t opened yet for lunch. Most of the wooden tables were filled with lounging travelers enjoying the fresh air.
I scanned the ranks of deck chairs on either side of the pool. Despite the brisk breeze, hardy sun lovers lay supine, eyes closed, bodies glistening with lotions and oils. Toward the end of the last row of chairs on the starboard side, Evelyn was cocooned in a blanket. She held a book, stared down at it, her face somber. I watched for a moment and she never turned a page. I crossed to the port side, though I doubted Evelyn would look up. She had withdrawn behind the book.
The forward area was divided among a card room, spa, fitness center, and beauty salon. In the fitness center, Kent was working out on a treadmill, back glistening with sweat, muscular legs striding fast. When I stepped into the beauty salon, I heard Madge’s sharp voice: “…Cut a little more off the back…” A haughty blonde leafed through a fashion magazine as a manicurist worked on her other hand. At the spa, I told the smiling attendant I was looking for Rosie Riordan, she’d said something about a body wrap…The answer was swift: “No, ma’am, Miss Riordan hasn’t made an appointment yet.”
I took the lift down to Deck 5 to check the remaining public areas, the shops and Diogenes Bar and the rather remote deck chairs on either side of the ship. I made a cursory trip to the reception lobby on Deck 4, then took the lift to Deck 6 and walked swiftly to my cabin. Apparently Rosie Riordan was not spending this lovely sunny day at sea taking advantage of the ship’s amenities.
The steward had already serviced the cabin, the fleur-de-lis-patterned spread, white against a soft blue, in place on the bed, fresh towels in the scrubbed bath, bottled water on the desk. I glanced at the phone. It was my last hope of contacting Rosie this morning. I was thoughtful as I brewed a cup of tea. I would have only a few words to persuade her to meet with me. I had to get her attention, get it and hold it. I hoped Jimmy would understand what I was about to do. Since Madge had overheard our confrontation with Sophia, it would not be long before all the Riordans knew why I was on board. Possibly an awareness that they were under suspicion might provide protection to Sophia.
Whether that proved true or not, whether Jimmy approved or not, I was determined to
make an effort to respect Vic’s death. It wasn’t any business of mine, but I knew only too well, now and forever, the sorrow of the soul as another year is marked. I didn’t understand why one of the Riordans hadn’t spoken up. Evelyn seemed to be on good terms with Sophia yet she’d remained silent. Should I go up to the pool deck, ask her to speak to Jimmy?
I almost turned to go, then shook my head. I didn’t want to ask Evelyn to give a message to Jimmy. Evelyn seemed too indecisive to interfere. Rosie would have no difficulty if she agreed to help me.
It seemed odd that apparently none of the Riordans had asked Sophia to reschedule her birthday dinner, but I couldn’t see why they would object to Jimmy making that request.
Even self-centered Madge was worried about tonight. I was sure Jimmy would agree that every possible effort should be made to lessen the strain between Sophia and the Riordans. An excellent start would be to move the party to tomorrow night.
I sipped the tea, wished its warmth could dissipate the chill I felt. Maybe it was time to admit to myself that I had a hunch. Hunches are nothing more than the subconscious fluttering of a warning flag. Hunches are ignored at our peril. It was as if I’d heard the distant crack in snowy stillness and knew an avalanche threatened. I could not in good conscience stand aside, do nothing.
I found Jimmy’s note where he’d listed the cabin numbers and dialed Rosie’s cabin again. No answer. I hung up without leaving a message. Rosie might be anywhere on the ship, perhaps in someone else’s cabin. I was sure she was not with Sophia and Jimmy. Was Jimmy still trying to persuade Sophia to dissolve the trusts to remove any possible motive for her death? Or had Jimmy and Sophia settled for an uneasy truce, Sophia mollified that I was no threat to her marriage yet stubbornly dismissive of Jimmy’s fears? Evelyn was quite likely still staring at her unread book. Madge was in the beauty salon, Kent on the treadmill. Alex? He was probably still in bed, avoiding the world. Val? What would she be doing on the anniversary of her twin’s death? I pictured her sunk in sadness in her cabin. That’s where Rosie was. I dialed the cabin number.
