A Crafty Christmas (8 page)

Annie arose at 4
A.M.
to get some work done on her manuscript before the start of the day. It was the first day of Hanukkah—okay it really didn't start until sundown, but she allowed herself to feel the joy of the holiday.

She clicked on her computer and the information about Allie Monroe and the ship was still on her screen. It was a tragedy, to be sure, this young woman killed on a cruise ship. She read over Allie's death notice. She was surprised to read that Allie had been in the process of divorcing her husband of twenty-three years. Wow. Three kids, money, and a divorce. That sent alarm bells off in Annie's head.

She typed in “Allison and John Monroe” and bingo, a list of blog articles came up on the computer:

Wow, what a tangled, sordid web.

What if Allie's husband is on the cruise?

Would a jealous soon-to-be ex-husband go to the trouble of killing his cheating wife while she was miles away from home?

Annie's guts twisted. Probably. Especially since there was a lot of money involved. And she'd been cheating on him. That would sting anybody, especially since it was so public. The humiliation would be searing. Some men would have to get revenge.

Annie knew she couldn't get a list of passengers on the ship, but she racked her brain trying to remember if she knew anybody that could.

She reached for her cell phone—she would text everybody she knew on the ship. At least one of them would be bound to get it.

Send.

She typed in the words “Jezebel Cruise” and saw that the ship was at a standstill on the sea due to the storm and would be rerouted.

Whew, that was a relief.

But still. Her friends were on a ship in the middle of the western Caribbean with a murderer
and
a pending storm.

The coffee pot beeped. Ahhh, coffee. It was just what she needed. A toilet flushed, announcing that one of her boys was up—it was probably Mike.

He sauntered into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” she asked.

He nodded. “Man, I was up and down all night. I shouldn't have had that beer.” He kissed her cheek. “Good morning, Annie.”

“Morning,” she said, pouring him some coffee.

“Get much work done?”

“Not really. I've been distracted by the murder on the cruise ship.”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, bringing his cup to his mouth.

“Find out anything?”

She told him what she knew.

“I'm glad you didn't go,” he said, smiling.

She liked the way her man looked in the mornings. All dark and rumpled. Unshaven.

“What?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you're cute.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

She drank more coffee. “I wonder if there's a way for me to hack into the ship's database and get a passenger list.”

He grinned. “I bet I know someone who could help you with that.”

“Really? I'd feel better knowing if her ex is on the ship.”

“Whose ex?”

“Allie Monroe's ex-husband. If he's the one who killed her, he's not much danger to anybody else. But if it was just some random killing . . .”

“Your friends would be in more danger. But, Annie, there's not much you can do from here.”

“I can warn them.”

“If you can get through to them. With a storm so close by, I imagine communication will be rough.”

She grimaced.

“They are a resourceful and smart bunch of women,” Mike said.

“True.”

“I mean, there's Vera, one of the strongest women I've ever known. She's not going to get herself killed after everything she's been through,” he said, and grinned.

It was true that Vera was the cliché of a “steel magnolia.” On first meeting Annie thought she was vapid, prissy, and not very bright. Boy was she wrong. Vera was a smart businesswoman who knew what she wanted and never had a problem saying what that was.

“And then there's Paige.” Mike rolled his eyes. “I mean, c'mon. I'll never forget when you all went up on Jenkins Mountain after that cult. Paige told you not to do it. And then she helped figure out all that historical stuff for Bea.”

“She's definitely the voice of reason. And she has Randy with her,” Annie said. “He's a bright young man.”

“And Sheila? Well . . .”

Sheila was a mess on the outside—but it was because she had so much going on in the inside that she couldn't be bothered brushing her hair most days. It had taken Annie a while to realize what Sheila was about; she was so creative that she sometimes didn't concern herself much with the little things in real life. Things like matching her clothes and brushing her hair. Annie smiled.

“Sheila is a trip,” she said.

“A crazy talented trip,” Mike said. “It's a shame this has all happened to her when she's finally coming into her own. Maybe it won't bother her much.”

Annie thought for a moment. “You know, Mike, I think it's going to bother her a lot. It's been a struggle for her to accept her talent. She's put it aside for years. When she's finally acknowledged, this strange murder takes place on the ship. I hope it doesn't hold her back. But it some ways, Sheila is the most fragile of all of us. What I mean is that she's on a precipice of great change in her life. And that makes her vulnerable.”

Beatrice woke up with a headache. Had she overdone it with the bourbon last night?

The scent of frying bacon let her know that Jon was up and fixing breakfast. That man. He was a good one.

She sat up slowly—her bones weren't happy with her this morning. Was a storm going to blow in? She made a mental note to check the local weather, not only the Caribbean weather. From what she could tell last night, the little boat on their Web site was moving again, which meant that it had been rerouted because of the storm. That was a good thing.

She reached for her robe and slipped it on and padded downstairs to the kitchen. She stood a moment to marvel at her man frying bacon and eggs. She glanced at the coffeepot, full and fresh. He was a winner.

“Good morning,” she said, coming up behind him, wrapping her arms around him.

“Good morning, mon amie,” he said. “There is your aspirin.” He pointed to the counter where a glass of water and an aspirin sat ready for her.

“Well, now. How'd you know?” she said.

“You left the bottle out. You always get a headache from it,” he said. “No matter what your daddy told you, I do not think it is good for what ails you.”

She smiled, then took her aspirin. “The good news is the
Jezebel
is moving again. Of course, it's not heading for the Mexican coast anymore. Thank heaven for that. I was worried because it doesn't seem like the cruise is being run professionally.”

Jon sighed and fiddled with the sizzling bacon. “The Mexican coast is getting hit hard. It's devastating to these small coastal communities.”

“It's a shame,” Beatrice said, and reached into the cupboard to get a cup. Lawd, she needed some coffee. She had too busy a day ahead to let a headache get the best of her.

After pouring herself the coffee, she sat down at the table and drank it silently. Jon piled plates high with scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits, and brought them to the table.

“Thanks for making breakfast this morning. I'll clean up,” she said.

“No thanks needed, Bea,” he said, and kissed her forehead.

After a mostly silent breakfast, Jon informed her that snow was expected, which didn't surprise Beatrice, given the way her bones ached. They always seem to know, unfortunately.

“It's supposed to start tonight,” Jon said.

“Tonight? Maybe I'll try to move the meeting up to this afternoon.” She had one more official meeting planned for the Christmas bazaar.

Lizzie came bounding her way down the stairs and climbed up on Beatrice's lap.

“Good morning, sugar. You hungry?” Beatrice said.

Lizzie nodded and Jon set a plate in front of her. She dug her head into Beatrice's chest and sobbed. “I miss Mama.”

“Aww, baby,” Beatrice said, as she slipped her arms around her. “I miss her, too. She'll be home soon.”

“In the meantime, your daddy is going to come and get you today and he's going to take you to see Santa. Isn't that exciting?” Jon said.

She sniffed and nodded.

Beatrice's heart ached. That child loved her mama, of course. They'd been through a lot together, perhaps making them closer than most. Bill's odd relationship with one of his law students was something both Vera and Elizabeth had suffered through. Some people should never have children. Bill was one of them. Beatrice hated sending her granddaughter off with him this morning, but the man had proven he was a fit parent according to the court's definition. It struck Beatrice, then, as it did from time to time, that half the world's problems would be solved if people were tested before they were allowed to become parents.

Oh, she could hear the crazies calling her fascist and inbred now. But, Lawd, some people should not breed. For years, she thought she might be one of them. After all, if she were to be honest with herself, physics was her first love. But then there was Ed, and when she met him she had grappled with the desire to bear his child. They got one in right under the wire. And she was a doozie.

“I had a dream about Mommy last night,” Elizabeth said. “I dreamed she was fighting an octopus!”

“Did she win? Did she kill that ol' octopus?” Beatrice said.

“No, I don't think so,” she said. “I woke up before the ending. But his arms were around her and she was crying.”

“Dreams are funny things,” Beatrice said.

“You've been watching too much Jacques Cousteau,” Jon said, setting a plate of biscuits on the table.

“But he's neat,” she said. “I like the way he talks. He talks like you, Grandpa.”

Beatrice loved to hear her call him Grandpa. So sweet.

Jon's eyes caught hers. He loved it, too. “He's just another crazy French guy,” he said, and smiled.

“Yep,” she said, and nodded her head. Then she turned her attention to her food.

After breakfast, Bill showed up for his weekend with Lizzie. Beatrice had to admit that he was good with her. It was the rest of his life he was not so good at—but bad decisions affected parenting, too.

As soon as she was gone, Bea sauntered over to her computer and clicked it on. She checked the ship's Web site to make certain the ship was moving away from the Mexican coast. She needed the certainty of knowing.

It was there that she read the news that another death had occurred on the ship. Harold Tuft, who had been a friend of Allie Monroe. Cause of death: unknown.

Unknown? Did that mean he was killed, too? Hmmm. Beatrice searched for him and Allie online. Sure enough, she found rumors about them dating and so on. Lawd, there were a lot of things online about this woman. Some kind of scrapbooking star. Hmph. Scrapbooking star or not, someone didn't like her or her boyfriend.

For the first time in several years, Sheila didn't start her morning with a run. She felt like crap. Her head still ached and she was sore everywhere from her fall. She hated to miss a run, but even Eric had mentioned to her the night before that she should not run with a head injury—as mild as it was.

She picked up her cell phone from the bedside table, wanting to call her husband. He might be able to pick up a call from her by now; he was leading a group of Boy Scouts through a part of the Appalachian Trail. She smiled at the thought.

She saw a text message from Annie.

Sheila placed her glasses on her face and read the text again. That Annie. She couldn't resist sleuthing, even if she wasn't even on board. But a chill traveled up through Sheila as she remembered the dead man last night. Allie's boyfriend was offed, too. It would seem that Allie's soon-to-be ex would be at the top of everybody's suspect list. It would be good to know if he was on board and exactly who he was so she could make certain to stay the hell away from him. Still, if she could put this together sitting in bed with a cell phone in her hand, surely Matthew Kirtley and Ahoy Security had already done so. It seemed so clear cut.

But later, showered and ready for breakfast, she grabbed her passenger list from the table. Not everybody was privy to this list, but as the Creative Spirit winner, she was. She couldn't read through all two thousand names, but she and her friends could together.

She grabbed her purse and phone and pressed in Steve's number again. She still couldn't get through to him. No signal again. Yet, Annie's message had gotten through sometime in the middle of the night. Off and on again; it was maddening.

She had her meeting with David's Designs and then she was teaching a class. She planned to meet her friends at the pool later. All of this scrapbooking was intense, even for her. She needed a break, especially after last night. Evidently, her designs weren't as good as she thought. She swallowed, willing away tears of embarrassment. Everything she had worked toward had seemed to crash around her at the meeting with Theresa.

When Sheila walked into the dining room, her eyes went immediately to the large decorated Christmas tree, brightly lit and trimmed in red and gold. Christmas music was being piped through the intercom. She was overwhelmed by a longing for home, to be sitting next to Steve and their own tree with all of their kids around them. She felt no Christmas spirit here. After last night, it had gotten worse.

As she glanced around the room for her crew, she observed the man who had been watching her so intently yesterday. She scowled. Then she spotted her group and walked toward them.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Paige said, looking up at her as she approached the table.

Sheila grunted and sat down, immediately reaching for the coffee.

“Are you feeling okay?” Vera said. She looked up at Sheila from a stack of fruit and crepes.

“I feel about the same as yesterday,” Sheila said.

“It's going to take a few days,” Eric said, then took a huge bite of sausage. “Try to eat something. The buffet is fantastic.”

“Coffee and toast for me this morning,” Sheila said. Her stomach was still queasy.

Randy was standing up to get his second or third helping from the buffet. “I'll bring you some toast,” he said. “Maybe it will settle your stomach and then you can eat more.”

“Thank you, Randy,” Sheila said.
What a nice young man. Too bad his relationship hadn't worked out.
“Have you heard about last night?” Sheila turned to her friends, who were all happily mooning over their food.

“What? Your meeting?” Paige said.

“No,” Sheila said. She took a drink of coffee. She didn't want to talk about that right now. And she was sure that the meeting with David's Designs would be the same kind of thing.
Who did she think she was? A real designer?
“There was another death.”

“What?” Vera exclaimed. A man who was seated at the table behind them turned and glared at her.

“Keep your voice down,” Sheila said.

“Really!” Vera said, her face reddening. ‘You can't lay something like that on me and not expect me to get a little excited.”

Sheila took a breath. “Okay. The man was Allie Monroe's boyfriend.” She mouthed the word “boyfriend.”

“I thought she was married,” Paige said.

“She was going through a divorce. A bad one.” Sheila said.

“Ahh, so now Annie's text makes sense,” Paige said.

“You got that, too? I wondered what that was about,” Vera said.

Sheila pulled out her passenger list and divided it among the group at the table.

Randy came up with a plate of food for himself in one hand and a plate of toast for Sheila in the other. He set it down in front of her. She smelled the toast and wasn't sure if she could manage to eat.

“What's this?” Randy said.

“This is the passenger list. We're looking for a John Monroe on the list. Allie Monroe's husband,” she said.

“Oh, he's not here,” Randy said. “I mean, you can look to double check, but I saw Matthew last night and they had already searched through the passenger list looking for him, probably thinking what you're thinking. The other murder . . .”

“Murder?” Sheila said. “Then he was killed?”

He nodded. “In exactly the same way as Allie Monroe.”

“How do you know all of this?” Sheila asked.

“I told you,” he said, and sat down next to his mother. “I saw Matthew last night. We met for drinks.”

Everybody stopped eating and looked up at him.

“What?” he said. “It was just drinks. It wasn't a real date or anything, and he kept getting pulled away to deal with everything.”

“Well, Randy, is there anything else you found out last night that you'd like to tell us?” Paige said.

His mouth full, he shook his head, then finally said, “Nothing I can think of. But Matthew is very cute, don't you think?”

Paige's neck, then face, reddened. Vera looked away and Sheila took a deep breath and bit into her toast.

“Not to scare anybody,” Eric said, “but I doubt the guy would be using his own name. If you were planning to kill someone on a cruise, would you?”

It was no use. Sheila swallowed her bite of the dry toast, but then set it down on her plate with a thud.