Farewell Seas

by Lily Harper Hart

  “We’ve assumed that,” Rowan argued. “What if it’s not true? What if Julia was strangled standing up and toppled into the laundry bin from above? That wouldn’t take much strength at all.”

  Quinn wanted to argue with the suggestion, claim it wasn’t possible, but when he pictured it in his mind, he got what she was saying. “Maybe we should test it,” he said after a beat. “We’ve been working on the assumption that someone had to lift Julia into the bin.

  “What if Rowan is right, though?” he continued. “What if she fell into the bin? That would be a completely different scenario.”

  “Where can we find one of these bins?” Paul asked.

  “Laundry room.” Quinn motioned with his fingers. “Come on. Let’s check it out. I want to at least see the phenomenon in action.”

  THE LAUNDRY ROOM ATTENDANTS didn’t look happy to be interrupted, and by the chief of security no less. Still, they knew better than fighting about it. Other than Michael, Quinn had the most authority on the ship and he had the power to eliminate jobs if it became necessary.

  “How much do you weigh?” Quinn asked, pointing toward one of the workers as she stood and watched the trio work.

  “Excuse me?” The young blonde’s eyebrows practically flew off her forehead. “That’s a rude thing to ask.”

  “Yes, well, I’m a rude guy.”

  Rowan pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at Quinn’s stern expression. He was obviously trying to exert his will, which she found sexy ... in a very romance novel sort of way.

  “I weigh a hundred and five pounds,” the woman automatically answered.

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “You’re five-foot-six, just like Julia West. You don’t weigh a hundred and five pounds. I’m guessing a hundred and thirty-three.”

  The woman’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me!”

  Rowan couldn’t stop herself from laughing at the outrage. “Use me, Quinn,” she prodded. “I weigh a hundred and thirty-five pounds. I’m about a half-inch shorter than Julia, but the demonstration will still work with me.”

  “I was going to use you as the attacker,” Quinn argued.

  “Use her as the attacker.”

  “Fine.” Quinn gestured for the attendant to move closer. “What is your name?”

  “Laura.”

  “Well, Laura, I need you to pretend to grab Rowan by the throat. Don’t really hurt her.”

  “You want me to ... strangle her?” Laura was legitimately confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Just do it.”

  Laura tentatively moved closer to Rowan and reached out, her fingers wrapping around Rowan’s throat.

  “Don’t squeeze,” Quinn instructed, moving closer to the two women. His mind was working at a fantastic rate as he took in the scene. “Ro, if your body went to dead weight right now, would you tumble forward or backward?”

  Rowan wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “I don’t know,” she replied after a beat, looking behind her while Laura kept her fingers loosely gripped around her throat. “My natural instinct is to fall backward, but I can’t decide if that’s because I know I have extra padding there so that makes the fall safer in my head or not.

  “I mean, think about it,” she continued. “Julia would’ve been dead weight at that point. She wouldn’t have been holding herself up.”

  “Good point.” Quinn was thoughtful as he circled the bin. “What’s the deal with these things?” he asked, giving the bin a little shake for emphasis. “Are they ever left out in the open so the guests can use them?”

  Puzzled, Laura shook her head. “Why would the guests want to use them? They’re not exactly vacation items.”

  “No, but we found a body in one the other day. To me, that seems to indicate at least one of them had to be left out so our murderer could take advantage of it.”

  “This happened on a day when people were checking in, right?” Laura queried.

  “Yeah.”

  “The bins are brought out when collecting bedding and linens. They get heavy fast. The bins are taken into the hallways and left at the intersections so multiple maids can use them at once. That cuts down on the time they’re in the hallways, and since the brass thinks they’re unsightly, that’s a good thing.”

  Something occurred to Rowan. “You guys don’t usually do laundry on check-in days, right?”

  “No,” Laura agreed. “The laundry is usually caught up long before we leave port. There would be no need for the bins to be out that day in the first place. You’re right about that.”

  “That’s an interesting catch, Ro.” Quinn furrowed his brow as he stared into the bin. “Why was a bin out if it was unnecessary?” He searched his memory. “There were multiple bins out the afternoon we found her. If they weren’t being used to collect bedding, what else would they be used for?”

  “To collect table linens,” Laura replied without hesitation. “That’s probably why they were out. If I remember correctly, that first day – like right away – the organizers of the conference looked over the ballroom that was going to be used for the meeting and didn’t like the table covers. That meant they all had to be removed ... and laundered again.”

  “Why would they have to be laundered more than once?” Rowan asked. “Why not simply fold and store them until they were needed?”

  “It’s company policy,” Quinn explained. “The maids were following protocol.” He ran his hand over the back of his short-cropped hair as he considered several options. “The thing is, all the bins would’ve been rolled into the ballroom and filled there. They wouldn’t have been left in the hallways. There’s no reason.”

  “Okay.” Rowan didn’t bother hiding the fact that she was chasing Quinn’s thought pattern. “I don’t know why that’s important.”

  Paul moved forward, finally inserting himself in the conversation. His author brain, the problem-solving portion that allowed him to plot well, had already caught up. “Because that means Julia was in the ballroom when she died. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  He nudged Laura out of the way and stepped to the spot in front of Rowan. “Whatever happened, it was in the ballroom and it probably happened fast. Whoever was in charge of making sure the ballroom met standards would’ve headed straight there ... and obviously Julia went along for the ride.”

  “Why would she do that?” Rowan asked.

  “Because she’s the keynote speaker,” Quinn answered automatically, picturing the table at the front of the ballroom. “She had the power position at that table.”

  “Who else was at the table?” Rowan asked.

  “Roxanne ... Rosalind ... Jazzy ... Toby ... Franklin Marsh.”

  “Who is Franklin Marsh?”

  “He’s a science fiction author,” Paul volunteered. “He’s a nice guy. Before you ask, I can’t remember him ever interacting with Julia. She wasn’t popular and only the romance authors went out of their way to meet her. The authors in other genres didn’t care.”

  “Huh. I didn’t even think about that.” Quinn rubbed his square jaw. “The Grand Dames were important, but only in romance circles. To those who didn’t write romance, they must have seemed ridiculous.”

  “You have no idea. There were a lot of people who laughed about the members of that group behind their backs. In fact, there were a lot of jokes about it being like a sorority ... except the members were all too old to have fun.”

  “Jazzy isn’t old,” Rowan pointed out. “She’s young ... and she seems like a pleasant individual. She didn’t give me any grief at all. Lila, on the other hand, seemed entitled and bitter. I’m thinking that’s not a very constructive combination.”

  “What if Lila was with Julia when she visited the room upon her arrival?” Quinn suggested. “Lila claimed that they checked into their rooms and Julia demanded that she unpack while she went to the bar. We watched the footage, lost Julia in the crowd, and only followed the trails that led to the bars and lido deck. What if Juli
a went to the ballroom ... and Lila followed?”

  Rowan tried to picture the young woman in question. It seemed ridiculous to imagine her as a killer, but Rowan had born witness to stranger things. “It makes sense in a weird way,” she said after a beat. “Lila and Jazzy both wanted to be writers. They started at the same time, worked as assistants at the same time, and the plan was to find agents and publishing houses at the same time.

  “Right before Jazzy hit it big, they were talking about doing a project together,” she continued. “Once Jazzy’s series hit, she didn’t have time for another project. That left Lila out in the cold.”

  “Not only that, but she was working for an author she hated,” Quinn added, his eyes back on the bin. “Julia was mean to her. Lila said she considered quitting numerous times, but she was always lured back by more money.”

  “There are rumors that Julia went through so many assistants that the publishing house warned Lila wouldn’t be replaced if Julia ran her off,” Paul volunteered. “Julia had an absolutely nightmarish reputation in the community. She was horrible ... even though people actually liked her when she first started. Her reputation was lost pretty quickly.”

  “All because she was at the top of the charts and her ego inflated,” Quinn mused. “She cut off her family — although I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done the same under similar circumstances because they were users — and she demanded her spot in the Grand Dames. She wasn’t allowed the first year because they wanted to break their own rules and not admit her.”

  “Have you checked on the woman who was booted in her place?” Rowan asked.

  Quinn nodded. “Yeah. Megan Kramer. She had a rough year, to the point where she’s not even on this cruise. I double-checked. If she killed Julia, she sent an emissary in her place. I’m not ruling that out, but it seems like a long shot.”

  “Besides that, why not go for Jazzy instead of Julia?” Paul queried. “Everyone knows that Jazzy is easier to get along with, which means she’s open to people approaching her. Getting close to Julia was impossible because she was always surrounded by people.”

  “Which brings us back to the ballroom,” Quinn noted. “Julia probably wanted to see her throne, where she would be holding court, and it’s unlikely she went alone. Lila was probably with her.”

  He briefly ran his thumb down Rowan’s cheek before pretending to strangle her. “Julia probably said something to Lila that pushed the wrong button and Lila snapped. She grabbed her around the throat and started to shake.”

  If Rowan was bothered by Quinn pretending to strangle her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she joined in the display and played her part, flailing her arms. “Jazzy said that Lila always wanted to be part of the Grand Dames, while Jazzy didn’t really care and only stayed with the group because her publisher insisted. Maybe Lila was jealous of Julia and lost her cool.”

  “It could’ve been a spur-of-the-moment thing,” Quinn mused, staring into Rowan’s eyes. “Julia says something, Lila snaps, but once she wraps her hands around Julia’s throat, she can’t take it back. If she does, Julia is the type to get her fired ... or even arrested.”

  “So, she keeps squeezing,” Rowan prods, leaning away from Quinn and toward the bin. “If someone tries to strangle you, the first instinct is to escape. Julia probably tried to escape so she was leaning away ... and when she lost consciousness she was already off balance.”

  “And then she toppled right into the bin,” Quinn finished when Rowan made a show of falling backward into one of the empty bins. He grinned when he moved closer and stared down at her. “Is it wrong that I kind of want to join you in there for a nap?”

  “Yes,” Paul automatically answered, rolling his eyes. “It’s definitely wrong. Let’s focus on the problem in front of us. If Lila killed Julia, which I agree is possible, why would she be focused on Rosalind? Rosalind is still a target, right?”

  “She is,” Quinn confirmed, extending a hand to help Rowan out of the bin. He took a moment to hug her before smoothing her hair, his mind running through eight different scenarios at once. “Maybe she found she enjoyed killing Julia. She might think that if she can’t be a Grand Dame, then no one should be able to join the group.”

  “That would mean Jazzy is also a potential target,” Rowan noted.

  “It would.” Quinn distractedly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Sweetie, I need you to go to the ballroom and take fresh photos of our players. Let me know if anything changes. The conference should be starting in fifteen minutes.”

  Rowan didn’t offer up an argument. “Okay. What are you going to do?”

  “Fred should have all my background checks for me. I believe Lila is probably the person we’re looking for, but I want to be sure. I don’t want to miss anything. You should be perfectly safe in the ballroom because it’s full of witnesses. I won’t be far behind you in case something happens.”

  “I hate to remind you, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “We’re a team so we have to work together. Those are the rules and we’re sticking to them.”

  Rowan snorted. “You have an excuse for everything, don’t you?”

  “I love you. I don’t need an excuse.”

  “So, let’s get to it,” Paul suggested, averting his eyes when Quinn kissed his daughter with a little more enthusiasm than he was comfortable with. “The sooner we put this behind us, the sooner we can talk about other things.”

  “I think that’s a grand plan,” Quinn said. “Let’s do this. Things are finally starting to come together.”

  18

  Eighteen

  Paul went with Quinn to his office. It made sense. Paul was one of the few people who could fill in the gaps when he started reading the background files.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Paul was nervous about leaving Rowan. “Maybe I should go to the ballroom and be with her.”

  “She’s capable and doesn’t like being crowded.” Quinn was intent as he logged on to his private email account. “She is perfectly fine in the ballroom. No one would dare move on her there. Why would they? She’s not a suspect. She’s not a threat.”

  “But she is a threat.”

  “They don’t know that.” Quinn tapped a few keys and pulled up Fred’s email. “Okay, here we go. Rosalind Painter’s name is Rebecca Maynard. She was an office assistant for an accounting firm before she hit it big as an author.

  “She was married to a man named Rupert Maynard for five years and they had three children,” he continued. “She never returned to the office after her last maternity leave and was a homemaker after that.”

  Paul forgot his worry about Rowan and sat in the chair across from Quinn’s desk. “Are you serious? I didn’t know she had kids. Why wouldn’t that be public?”

  “Because she’s not raising the kids,” Quinn replied, digging deeper into the information. “She wrote several romance novels while at home with the kids. Sent them to agents and got turned down until she finally hit a stroke of luck and published a book through a small publisher. It did okay, if not spectacular, but her second book earned a lot of money and things officially changed.

  “She petitioned Rupert for a divorce right away, but she didn’t want to split her book royalties with him,” he continued. “Apparently, whatever books she published while they were married were considered community property. There was also a question about the series continuing and him being able to claim those royalties.”

  “I never realized she was married.” Paul was dumbfounded. “Her publisher must’ve worked extremely hard to keep that information secret.”

  “Definitely,” Quinn agreed, bobbing his head. “She struck a deal with Rupert. She signed off on custody of the kids, gave him a lump sum payment of a hundred grand, and he gave up rights to her books.”

  Paul’s mouth dropped open. “You’re basically saying she sold her kids to that man.”

  “Pretty much.” Quinn squirmed on
his chair, uncomfortable with the turn of events. “Who would do that? Who abandons children like that?”

  Paul frowned. “I abandoned my child.”

  Quinn flicked his eyes to the man he knew would one day be his father-in-law. For better or worse, from this day forward, their lives would be inextricably mixed. There was no getting around that. They were already family.

  “You left Rowan because you were trying to protect her,” he corrected. “Would I have made the same decision in your shoes? Probably not. You didn’t have a lot of time to think about it. And, in your head, it was either stay with her or potentially lose her to death or whatever experiments you believe they’re running.

  “I’m not going to pretend I understand all of it,” he continued. “It’s above my pay grade and we haven’t yet been able to dig into the information Fred is digging up on the group. Yes, he’s finding stuff. We have to get through this first and then focus on that.

  “As far as Rosalind goes, they’re not the same thing at all,” he said. “You agonized over your decision. You mourned the loss of Rowan for ten years. I don’t think Rosalind has been mourning anything.”

  Paul nodded in thanks. “You didn’t have to say that, but I appreciate it.”

  “I said it because it’s true.”

  “Does it say anything in there about the kids?”

  Quinn turned back to the file. “Rupert remarried and his second wife, who looks to be a lovely person and solid citizen, adopted them. I have no idea if they’re aware of their ties to Rosalind, but I’m guessing she put certain stipulations in place to keep this information under wraps.”

  “I disliked her before.” Paul was grim. “I downright hate her now.”

  “Join the club.” Quinn moved on to the next file. “Here is Roxanne Hamilton. She was a lawyer before all this, making a good living. She’s still licensed to practice law in the state of New York. She’s kept her Bar standing in the state, where she doesn’t currently practice but used to be a criminal defense attorney.”