A Crafty Christmas (2 page)

Sheila sank further into the pillow. Her head ached, the room spun every time she opened her eyes, and this was her big dream vacation. She had won the free scrapbooking cruise with two free guest tickets from entering a scrapbooking design contest. Who would have thought a murder would take place among a group of two thousand scrapbookers?

She decided to not think about it. Instead she tried to focus on the good things about the cruise. Who would have thought such a devastating and cruel act could take place when they had stepped on board two days ago? Sheila could never have imagined such finery as what she saw when she'd first set foot in the atrium.

“They said it was going to be luxurious,” Paige had whispered as they all stopped in the bustling crowd to take it all in.

The somewhat worn but very excited group from Cumberland Creek had stood on the white and brown marble floors and surveyed the huge, elegant room. A crystal chandelier sparkled from five floors above them. A white baby grand piano sat in the corner. A gentleman in a tuxedo played “White Christmas” with a pleasant smile on his handsome face.

Christmas trees and poinsettias filled the hall. Tall, thin trees were lined up against the gold columns that reached from floor to the ceiling. Wreaths with glittering gold ribbons hung from the balconies of the open restaurants and bars. In the center of the room was the largest Christmas tree any of them had ever seen.

“Welcome aboard,” said a man dressed in a uniform as he came toward them. “Are you Mrs. Rogers?”

“Yes,” Sheila said.

“Our guest of honor,” he said. “I am Captain Marsten.”

Sheila beamed. “These are my friends.” She introduced Vera and Paige, who were taking advantage of the free trip. Then she introduced Eric, Vera's boyfriend, and Randy, Paige's son.

“What do you folks think of her?” the captain asked, opening his arms wide to indicate his ship.

“She is breathtaking,” Randy said. “Much bigger than I ever expected.”

“Ah, but turn around,” the captain replied.

And when they did so, Vera gasped out loud. Two huge spiral staircases led up to the top floor and strands of lights draped down the center of them—giving the area a glistening sheen. Vera, the dancer in the crowd, loved her sparkles.

“I love the idea of hanging lights from the ceiling like that,” she said. “Amazing.”

“The ceiling is pretty amazing, too,” Eric pointed out, looking skyward. Circular patterns etched in gold and light filled the ceiling.

“What do I smell?” Sheila asked.

“I think that's the gingerbread,” the captain said. “We have every kind of restaurant and food shop you can think of on this ship. Right over here is one of my favorite places, our pastry shop. They are giving out gingerbread cookies right now, to welcome our guests. Please help yourselves. I really must take my leave, but I am at your service.”

Due to Sheila's award-winning status, they'd been the first passengers allowed to board the ship, and so they were also the first to enter the pastry shop, which was exactly the opposite of the atrium in terms of atmosphere. It was cozy and quaint with dark-colored woodsy walls, ceiling, tables, and bars. Servers were dressed in red velvet shorts with suspenders over white crisp blouses, and each of them wore a Santa hat. They held up trays of spicy-scented cookies.

Sheila reached for one. “Oh my gosh, I'm going to gain ten pounds on this cruise,” she said. The cookie was still warm.

“I'm glad they took our bags,” Paige whispered, as she fussed around with her cookies.

“Why are you whispering?” Vera asked.

“I don't know,” she said, her voice getting a little stronger. An awestruck look came over her. “I guess if this is a dream, I don't want to wake myself up.”

The group took their cookies and walked through the shop to the other side, where there was a smaller atrium with a fountain in the center. It glowed red and then green as the water spurted in streams.

“I really need to sit down,” Sheila said as she spied some tables and chairs in the corner. The group followed, sitting and eating their cookies.

“Not bad,” Randy said. “Could have used a bit more ginger.” Randy was a pastry chef in New York City. He'd joined his mother on the cruise because he was going through a rough breakup with his boyfriend of many years. He needed some time away from the city. And some time with his mother—they had been estranged for a while.

“Hmph,” Paige said. “I was thinking they need more sugar.”

“I think the cookies are perfect,” Sheila said.

And for two days the cruise had been perfect. Scrapbooking with people from all over the world was just the beginning of the perfection. Some of the world's most well-known professional scrapbookers were here. And, because Sheila had won the contest, they were all introduced to her.

 

 

Everything had been perfect—until this morning.

She lay in the infirmary trying to gather her strength, keep her wits about her.
Don't panic,
she kept telling herself.
Think of all the good things about the cruise, of all the good things that have happened and that will happen.

But it was so hard to think between the pounding jabs in her head.

Annie was sitting in front of the computer, working on her new book about the Mary Schultz murder, when she heard a strange beeping noise. It was a new computer—she'd taken part of her advance to purchase it. She didn't have time to read the manual, so she had just plunged in to using it. The beep came again. What the heck was it? Was her computer freaking out? Then she saw the Skype icon light up. Ah-ha.

The screen popped up with Vera's and Paige's faces on it.

“Hello, hello, one-two-three, testing,” Vera said as if yelling through a megaphone.

“Okay, yes, I see and hear you,” Annie said, smiling, then waving. Amazing! Her friends were out at sea and yet she saw them on her screen. “How's the cruise?”

Their white faces didn't look like they had gotten any sun yet. She was expecting them to be sunburned by now.

“Sheila took a fall and has a mild concussion,” Vera said. “I'm very worried about her. She had to miss her first appointment this morning.”

“Fell?”

“Yeah,” Paige piped up. “She tripped over a dead body.”

“What?” Annie's heart skipped a beat. They'd all had too much death in their lives the past few years. It had finally calmed down in Cumberland Creek and now Sheila trips over a body on a cruise? “How?”

They filled her in.

“Who is this person?” Annie asked. A mixture of morbid curiousity, reporter's instincts, and concern for her friends coursed through her.

“We don't know. They are not telling us a thing,” Vera said, eyes wide. “It's like a big secret or something.”

“They probably don't know who it is yet,” Paige said. “I told you that.” She said it with an edge to her voice. Paige was annoyed. “You've got close to two thousand people on board. There was no identification on the body.”

“I'm sure it will all come out eventually. They probably need to contact the family first. What makes them think it's murder?” Annie asked, trying not to sound panicked.

“We have no idea,” Vera said, shrugging.

“Other than all this, how is the cruise?” Annie said. She tried to ignore the fear she felt creeping along her spine.
Her friends were on a ship with a killer.

“It's gorgeous,” said Paige. “The water. Saint Thomas was wonderful. Just so beautiful.”

“Yesterday was a lot of fun,” Vera said. “We went to a session on altered books. It's amazing what you can do. Eric even liked it. I'll tell you more about altered books later.”

“Eric's there?” Annie said, surprised. She noticed Paige crossed her arms.
Ah-ha. That's what the problem is
. Annie almost laughed.

Vera nodded. “He surprised me and came along.”

“Speaking of surprises . . .” Paige looked off camera and then her son, Randy, was on camera, grinning. “Hiya, Annie,” he said. “Do you mind if I steal them away for lunch?”

“Good to see you, Randy,” Annie said. She was thrilled that Paige and Randy would be spending time together without Earl, who still hadn't fully accepted his son was gay. He was working on it, but he sure was stubborn.

“Well, ladies, we have to go or we'll miss lunch,” Randy said.

They said their good-byes and Annie went back to work on her story. It was the most fascinating story of her career, one she'd never have known about if she hadn't been living in Cumberland Creek. Funny how one story could lead to another. While writing about the murder of two young women, she had visited the local prison to talk with Mary about the local Mennonites. She had eventually trusted Annie enough to talk with her and agreed to allow her to write a book about her own story.

Hard to believe she'd been here five years. They'd first moved here thinking she'd retire from reporting to stay at home with her boys. But she got sucked back in because there had been several murders in Cumberland Creek and she was contacted by an editor to write about them. They had really needed the money. It wasn't easy living on one income, even in Cumberland Creek.

The Mary Schultz book might be a big break for Annie. Mary was a young Mennonite woman who'd killed her father, after years of abuse and asking for help everywhere she could—even her church. The petite, soft-spoken Mary had finally taken matters into her own hands. With an ax. Hard to imagine how a small young woman could have the strength. It must have been the element of surprise and the adrenaline rush of finally fighting back.

Murder. It had been on Annie's mind a lot the past few years and even more while working on this book. She swallowed hard. Several of her friends were on a ship with a murderer. She didn't want to scare them—she was certain they were already frightened—but cruise ships remained murky when it came to the law and security. They'd been in the headlines recently because of it. Annie wondered if the crew was so secretive because of the PR problems cruise lines were having.

She sat back in her chair and, once again, wished she could have gone on the trip. But her deadline prevented it. That and the fact that tomorrow was the first day of Hanukkah. She wanted to be with her boys for the holiday.

Mike walked into their bedroom. Her husband of fifteen years wrapped his arms around her.

“How's it going?” he said, then kissed her cheek.

“I just Skyped with Paige and Vera,” she said. “How about that?”

“Aren't you a techie these days?” Mike teased.

“Poor Sheila fell,” she said, and then told him the story. “I feel so bad. This whole cruise is such a great opportunity. She's finally coming into her own. I'm so proud of her. I hope she rallies.”

“I hope they find out who the killer is soon. Wouldn't want to be on that ship,” Mike said, and shivered. “I'm glad you didn't go, babe. How's the book coming along?”

“Okay. I think I need to write a few more chapters, but then the first draft is done.”

He bent down and nipped at her cheek. “Care to take a break?”

She glanced at the clock. Mike had a dentist appointment in an hour.

“I might be persuaded,” she said.

Beatrice would never admit it, but she was 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 gotten 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 simply 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 a sugar cookie. Have one. There are 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.

The house 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 antennae 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's still able to 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.

“Hmph.”

“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 cold Cumberland Creek as you dumped your wedding photos in it, standing in your bare feet. 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.