But it was so hard to think between the pounding jabs in her head.
Chapter 3
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.
Chapter 4
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.”
“A
h, 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.
Not just any cruise, indeed.
Chapter 5
Croppin’ with Cathy was about to start. Sheila had talked the doctor into letting her try to attend. After all, Eric was there and could watch over her, if need be, as Vera’s new man was a doctor. The ship’s physician had entrusted him to watch over her while she cropped. Eric was a pain in the ass, always hanging around with them, so much so that Sheila found herself biting her tongue a lot. She was happy if Vera was happy. But damn, he was smothering their friendship.
She still felt a bit woozy, but the pain medicine helped. “Jingle Bells” sounded over the intercom and the room was lavishly decorated with holiday greenery and lighting. As beautiful as it was, Christmas was the last thing Sheila wanted to think about. All she really wanted was home and her own warm bed, preferably with her husband in it so she could cry on his shoulder.
She knew that wasn’t the “modern woman’s” way of thinking. She should be grateful for this opportunity—and she was. But tripping and groping around a dead body, and then bumping her head hard when she passed out, had her feeling glum about the cruise. A few days ago, it was like a dream come true: two thousand scrapbookers all in one place. So many of the big names were gathered here.
Surely she’d get over her malaise. But, right now, she missed her sleepy little town of Cumberland Creek and she missed her family.
She took a deep breath and motioned for the beautiful young man who was dishing out glasses of wine. Surely one glass of wine wouldn’t hurt. They were lucky the cropping events on board all offered free drinks, which included alcohol. And the Cumberland Creek contingent took advantage of it, since outside the scrapbooking events the drinks were extremely expensive.
Cathy was one of the big names on board. Sheila had a dinner scheduled with her this evening, so she was happy to be able to participate in this event today.
Sheila dug around in her scrapbooking cart and pulled out the photos she wanted to use for this crop, from her son’s violin recital. She was working on a music-themed scrapbook for him. Of all things she would have chosen for her son Jonathon to be good at, violin was not one. But he loved it and excelled at it.
“What are you thinking about?” Vera said. “You thinking about that dead body?”
Sheila nodded. “Sort of.”
“What did it feel like?” Vera asked, eyes wide.
“Vera, honestly,” said Paige.
“Seriously,” Eric said. “Leave it alone for now.” He wrapped his arm around Vera and pulled her close to him.
How was the woman going to get any cropping done with him hanging out with her?
“Thank you,” Sheila said to the server as she reached for the wine.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much booze in my life,” Paige said. “It’s everywhere. All the time.”
“Thank God,” said Sheila as she drank from her glass. It was sweet, good, and she wanted more. But she put the glass down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man looking at her. He turned the minute her eyes met his. Strange. Was he really looking at her? Did he know what she knew? Or worse, was he the murderer?
“Mrs. Rogers?” someone said from behind her, causing her to gasp and jump.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the young woman said. “I’m Sherry. I’m a big a fan of your designs. I was wondering if I could get you to sign my program?”
Sheila’s eyes widened and she felt a blush creeping on to her face. She smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Thanks so much.”
Sherry held the program book up to her; it was open to the section that featured her work. It was then Sheila remembered Allie Monroe had borrowed her winning scrapbook two nights ago and was supposed to return it this morning at breakfast. Oh bother, that’s exactly when she had been in the infirmary.
She signed the book and handed it back to Sherry. “My first autograph,” Sheila said. “And probably my last.”
“Oh no.” Sherry became serious. “My money is on you to become very famous. What are you going to do? Develop your own line? Work in digital?”
“Well, um, er . . .” she said, trying to find her words.
“She’s entertaining offers,” Vera spoke up. And thank goodness for that.
Sheila’s head was swimming; she wasn’t used to complete strangers wanting her signature and she was a bit flummoxed.
“Why, thank you so much,” said the young woman, and then she walked away.
“Oh my, my, my, my,” Paige said, and whistled. “I didn’t know we were in the company of a star.”
“Stop it.” Sheila waved her off.
“You better get used to it, dear,” Vera said, cutting some paper with her paper cutter before she stacked it in a neat pile next to her page.
“What do you have on that page?” Paige asked.
“It’s a doily. They handed them out at yesterday’s altered book workshop. Didn’t you get any?”
/> “I didn’t see them,” Paige responded.
“Here, have a few.” Vera reached into her bag. “I never would have thought to use a doily in my scrapbooking. I’m getting so many ideas and this is only the third day. You can use them plain, paste a photo on them, or whatever. Or you can paint them. One woman at the workshop put together a page with painted doilies. It was gorgeous. Another woman—I think it was Allie Monroe—used doilies as a kind of template. She painted over them and when she took the doilies off it left behind this intricate design.”
“That reminds me; I need to find Allie,” Sheila said. “She has my scrapbook. Have you seen her?”
“No, thank God. What a snob,” Paige said.
“She’s got a lot to be snobby about, I suppose,” said Vera.
Allie Monroe was one of the most successful scrapbooking designers in the world. She and Sheila had hit it off immediately and had sat together at dinner a few nights ago.
“Very talented woman,” Sheila said. “She was supposed to meet me this morning. I’m afraid she might think I stood her up. She borrowed my scrapbook before I even got the chance to take it out of the plastic.”
“Why?” Paige asked.
“She wanted to look it over one more time,” Sheila said, noticing the man looking at her again. She ignored him. It was that or hit him over the head with her scrapbook. She could not abide rudeness.
Soon, young fresh-faced servers placed themselves at the end of their aisles, handing out bags of scrapbooking swag.
“Good afternoon,” Cathy said into her microphone. “Welcome. I hope you enjoy a sample of my new line of scrapbooking paper, called Cherry Blossom. I was in China last year and was so inspired by the blossoms.”
“I love this paper,” Vera said, eyes wide.
“Nice freebie,” Paige said, as she opened her bag of scrapbooking paper, stickers, and embellishments.
“Must be costing her a fortune to give all this away,” Vera said.
A Crafty Christmas Page 2