The Death in the Drink Read online

  “But you’re nervous about my news.”

  I shrugged, trying not to let on that I was ever so slightly freaking out inside. “A bit. You’re not very good at hiding things.”

  He snorted. “My old Lieutenant would be horrified.”

  “No doubt. So talk to me.”

  He cleared his throat. It was odd for him to be so nervous. A sudden thought made me stiffen. Dear heavens, I hoped he didn’t plan to propose! I loved Lucas, but I wasn’t ready for that. Not just yet.

  “I’m thinking about moving to Astoria.”

  It took a moment to soak in. I blinked. “Here? You’re moving here?”

  “Maybe.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “I miss you, Viola. I like having you around.”

  My heart did the melty thing again. “Me, too…”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  “Well, I just… Moving in together is a big step…” Where on Earth would I stuff him? My little cottage was perfect for just me, but for two of us?

  He held up his hands. “Exactly. One neither of us is ready for. I’m not suggesting we move in together.”

  I frowned, confused. “Then what?”

  “I want to buy my own place here in Astoria. We’ll be able to spend more time together.”

  I grinned. “I like it. But what about your commitments? There’s no real airport near here.” There was a tiny one, but Lucas needed something more international. He did a lot of travelling to speak at conferences and do signings. Not to mention consulting on movies based on his books.

  “I told my publicist I want to cut down on signings. And I’m accepting fewer speaking engagements while charging more money.”

  “Clever.”

  He laughed. “That’s what I thought. I’m going to do some online courses, that sort of thing.”

  “What about Hollywood?”

  “I’ll still consult, but a lot of that can be done by video conference. And Portland International Airport is less than two hours away. No biggie.”

  The thought of Lucas living nearby, of us being able to spend time together like a normal couple, gave me a little thrill of excitement. “Have you got a good real estate agent?”

  “You’re okay with this, then?” He eyed me carefully.

  “Yeah. I am. I’ve missed being able to see you every day.”

  He gave me one of his devastating grins. “Good. And, yes, I’ve got an excellent agent. We’ve been looking mostly at condos down on the waterfront.”

  That suited him. I could definitely see Lucas in an ultra-modern apartment overlooking the river.

  “You stupid cow!”

  We stared at each other, startled, before glancing over to the other side of the room. I couldn’t quite see over the bar, but the woman’s strident tone reached us easily.

  “This food is cold. Cold!” Her voice got louder and shriller with each word, like she was winding up to a full-blown temper tantrum. “I did not come here to pay good money for cold food. And what do you call this? This isn’t steamed broccolini. This is some kind of limp garbage. You expect me to eat this? A dog wouldn’t eat this!”

  I could see the waitress, a petite girl with curly dark hair, nearly in tears. “I-I’m sorry, ma’am—”

  “Ma’am!” The woman’s voice rose to an ear-splitting shriek. “How old do you think I am?” I half expected her to throw herself on the floor and beat her fists on the concrete.

  “What the heck?” I muttered.

  “Tourists,” Lucas said wryly.

  “Tourist or not, that behavior is unacceptable.” I slid out from the booth and tossed my napkin on the table, righteous anger burning in my breast. Sometimes I can be a little dramatic.

  “Viola.” There was a warning note in Lucas’s voice.

  I ignored him and stormed around the bar. The waitress glanced at me, half hopeful and half fearful. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and she was literally shaking. Her slender fingers twisting her apron into a rumbled mess.

  In the booth sat middle-aged man with a forgettable face and an embarrassed expression. Across from him sat a slender woman of fifty-something with her dyed-blonde hair in an elegant twist. She wore expensive gold jewelry and an equally expensive floral print cocktail dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves. Totally out of place in Astoria, which tended more toward jeans and fleece pullovers.

  I stared down at her. She ignored me and continued ranting at the waitress. I could feel my face twisting in disgust. Sometimes I just can’t keep my thoughts to myself. “Excuse me.”

  She turned gimlet eyes on me. “What do you want?” She said it like I was so much pond scum.

  “You have no right to speak to anyone that way,” I snapped. “You’re being rude.”

  “How dare you! I am a customer here.”

  “Yeah,” I snarled, “and so am I. Doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk.”

  She gave me a haughty look. “I should have known better than to dine in a place like this.” She sniffed. “They obviously let anyone in here.”

  “Why, you piece of—” I lunged at her, but somebody grabbed me around the waist and hauled me back, my feet literally a foot off the floor. I flailed wildly, nearly clipping my captor on the chin.

  “Darling, why don’t we go for a walk? Such a nice night. Excuse us.” Lucas dragged me out toward the restaurant’s exit. The little waitress trotted behind us, to-go boxes clutched to her chest.

  “Thank you so much,” she blurted when we reached the sidewalk. “That woman…” Tears welled again. “She’s just awful.”

  “Yeah, I’m only sorry I didn’t punch her in the face.” I glared at Lucas who’d had the temerity to stop me.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She’d have just called the police, and Bat would have had to throw you in jail.”

  “Bat wouldn’t have done that,” I muttered. Actually, Bat probably would have done exactly that after I’d nearly broken his nose.

  “He’d have to if she pressed charges,” Lucas pointed out with maddening logic.

  “He’s right,” the waitress said mournfully.

  “She’s the one who should be thrown in jail,” I snapped.

  “True,” Lucas agreed, “but unfortunately, being rude isn’t illegal.”

  I huffed. He was right. Dagnabbit. “Well, maybe it should be.”

  Lucas turned to the waitress, handing her a wad of cash. “Thank you for bringing our meals. Keep the change.”

  “It’s too much,” she said, staring at the cash like it might bite her.

  “It’s not even close to enough,” he said, then he guided me down the sidewalk toward his car.

  That was Lucas. Generous to a fault.

  “Sorry if I embarrassed you in there,” I muttered.

  “You didn’t. In fact, I’m proud of you.”

  I beamed. “That woman just made me so mad. Someone should do something about her.”

  “Karma has a way of working these things out.”

  I snorted. “Since when do you believe in karma?” In my experience, karma often needed a helping hand. Or a swift kick up the butt.

  “Since the day I met you.”

  Aww.

  We tucked our to-go boxes in the car and took a romantic stroll along the riverfront. The air was crisp, the stars sharp and bright overhead. The perfect night. But in my mind, I was busy dreaming up ways karma could bite that woman’s… backside.

  Chapter 2

  Lady Washington

  The next day Cheryl and I headed uphill to pick up my gown. Cheryl’s mom, Charlene, lived on Lexington Avenue in one of the old ranch-style homes that had been built in the ’50s. The siding was dove gray, the trim creamy white, and the door cherry red with a brass doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head. It had an amazing view of the river, the bay, and the green bridge that spanned the distance between the Oregon and Washington borders.

  She flung open the door and waved us in. “I’ve just finished hemming y
our gown, Viola. You’re going to love it.” She ushered us through the blue carpeted living room—a leftover from the ‘90s—down the narrow hall, and into the small spare bedroom that served as her sewing room.

  The sewing machine sat beneath the window with a good view of the front yard. The carpet, which matched the living room, was littered with pieces of thread in every color of the rainbow. Charlene held up a plate of cookies. “Help yourself, then let’s get you two into these dresses!”

  Charlene and Cheryl could just about be twins, but Charlene’s short hair was blonde and her skin fair and her age somewhere in the upper sixties. It’d been just the two of them for as long as Cheryl could remember. And certainly since I’d known them. Charlene had welcomed me into their lives with open arms and homemade cookies.

  Today the cookies were peanut butter. Cheryl and I stuffed our faces while twisting and gyrating into our chemises, stays, petticoats, and gowns. In that order. I was glad Cheryl was driving, since I wasn’t sure I could move enough to steer.

  Once Charlene and Cheryl had wrangled me into my gown, Charlene doubled checked the length. “Perfect. Now, you girls have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” She giggled at her little joke as she stuffed extra cookies in our reticules. Those crumbs were never going to come out.

  We arrived at the docks dressed in our Regency gowns and bonnets. Cheryl’s was a white fabric she called “Swiss dot” which looked beautiful against her dusky skin. My dress had a white background over which was printed a plum-colored floral motif. Cheryl had also brought wool shawls that were both pretty and warm.

  “It’ll be cold out there on the ship,” she’d explained as if she sailed all the time.

  “Wow!” I said as we approached the docks, and I caught my first glimpse of the ship mast jutting above the trees.

  “Isn’t the Lady Washington elegant?” Cheryl enthused. “So graceful. I can’t believe we get a chance to sail on her!”

  A small crowd was gathered on the docks. About a dozen people, most of them women, all dressed like extras from Pride and Prejudice. A man of about sixty, holding a clipboard and wearing an old-time captain’s uniform, was checking them in with little ticks of his stubby pencil.

  “How did you get hooked up with these people?” I asked.

  “I met Ella Cayse—that’s the woman that runs the Portland Regency Costumers Guild—online when I was doing research. When she found out I lived here in Astoria, she suggested I join them on this outing. I thought, why not? It’ll be fun.” Cheryl bubbled over with enthusiasm. Ironic, seeing as how I was usually the one dragging her into shenanigans, not the other way around.

  A hubbub caught my attention. A tall woman dressed in a reddish orange garment was kicking up a fuss. Her stentorian tones reached us clear at the top of the dock, though I couldn’t make out the words.

  “Who’s the loud mouth in the red overcoat?”

  “The long coat is called a pelisse,” Cheryl corrected me primly. “The short ones are spencers. And the woman in the persimmon pelisse is Tabitha Yates. She’s… a challenging personality.”

  What she called “challenging” I called raging witch with a capital “B.” “Which one is Ella?”

  “The dark-haired one in the pink-and-white-striped pelisse.”

  Ella Cayse was a woman about my own age—mid-forties—with thick, black hair piled on top of her head, wide hips, and a harried expression. Her striped pelisse fastened under her more-than-ample bosom with rose-colored frogging. As we drew near, she shoved her black framed glasses up her nose and gave us a beaming smile.

  “Lady Cheryl! Lovely to see you. It was wonderous of you to come.” She didn’t quite manage to fake an English accent, but it was close.

  “Good grief. Are we going to have to talk like that?” I muttered.

  “Stop complaining and have some fun,” Cheryl ordered. “Hello, Ella. I’m so glad we get to meet in person. This is my dearest friend, Viola Roberts.” Now she was half-faking an English accent.

  “Lady Viola, welcome!” Ella’s genuine warmth made me feel somewhat better about participating. Until I caught a better view of the woman in the persimmon pelisse. I grabbed Cheryl’s arm. “Oh, crud.”

  “What is it?”

  “The persimmon woman, what’d you call her?”

  “Tabitha Yates.” Cheryl frowned. “Why?”

  “Do you know her?” Ella asked with surprise.

  I slid a sideways glance at her. “She a friend of yours?”

  Ella fidgeted with the small, green silk pouch clutched in her white-gloved fingers. “I wouldn’t say friends, exactly. She is a member of our group…” She trailed off as if unsure how to address the issue. It was clear, however, that Ella Cayse didn’t like Tabitha Yates any more than I did.

  “I saw her in the Astoria Cafe yesterday when Lucas and I were out for lunch. She was being nasty to the waitress,” I explained.

  “Oh, boy,” Cheryl said. “Let me guess. You got in her face.”

  “You bet I did. Nobody has the right to treat another human being like that,” I huffed.

  “What did Lucas say?”

  “He agreed with me, of course. Although he did make us leave.”

  Cheryl snickered. “I bet he did.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Ella said, dropping her fancy language. “That woman is a menace. Thinks she’s better than everyone. Sorry, I shouldn’t speak ill of one of our members.”

  “You go right ahead,” I urged her. “That woman is a menace. She needs taken down a peg or three if you ask me.”

  Ella gave a little smile. “Well, let’s just keep that between us. I’m hoping to get through this sail without blood on the water. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and soothe the Captain’s ruffled feathers. Tabitha’s been yelling at him all morning.”

  As she bustled away, I grabbed Cheryl’s arm. “Maybe we should leave.”

  “Because of Tabitha Yates? I paid forty bucks a piece for these tickets. We’re getting on that ship.”

  I glanced at the prow of the Lady Washington where a buxom, dark-haired woman carved from wood bobbed up and down. My stomach lurched. “I’m feeling a bit seasick.”

  Cheryl sighed and rummaged in a silk pouch similar to Ella Cayse’s, except Cheryl’s was of purple cloth with a white flower embroidered on the side. “I’ve got some motion sickness pills right here in my reticule.” She pulled out a travel-sized bottle with a crow of triumph. “Take one of these and stop complaining. I thought you were more adventurous than this.”

  “I am usually,” I admitted. “I’m just not a fan of boats.” As I chewed the pill, I slid a glance toward Tabitha Yates who was now sashaying down the dock toward the Lady Washington. Next to her strode the gray-haired man I’d seen with her at the Astoria Cafe, only he was now dressed in beige breeches and a navy-blue frock coat. At one point, she staggered slightly, and he caught her. I wondered if she faked it for attention. She seemed the type. “And the last thing I want is to spend hours on one with Tabitha Yates.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s only a two-hour sail,” Cheryl said.

  “That’s what they told Gilligan,” I muttered.

  “That was a three-hour tour,” she said dryly, “and the ship’s big enough we can stay far away from Tabitha.”

  I felt like declaring, “The ship isn’t big enough for the two of us,” but that seemed overly dramatic even for me. So, I put on my big girl panties—metaphorically speaking—and followed Cheryl up the gang plank and onto the Lady Washington.

  Once everyone was aboard, the Captain adjusted his tricorn, clasped his hands behind his back, and addressed us. “The original Lady Washington was a ninety-ton brig which sailed for about ten years during the 18th century,” he lectured. “This replica was built in 1989…” As he droned on, I tuned him out, instead focusing on the various members of the costuming group.

  Tabitha Yates and her escort—husband, perhaps? —stood at the back of the ship off to one side.
Every now and then, she’d let out a dramatic yawn as if the whole thing bored her. No one else stood near them. Which wasn’t surprising giving Tabitha’s imperious pose, nose up in the air like she was the frigging Queen of England. Her husband was a mousy sort of man, supercilious in the extreme. I’d barely noticed him at the restaurant, he was such a non-entity. It didn’t surprise me that Tabitha—who was a good-looking woman for her age—would choose a man like him. She wasn’t the sort to allow her escort to outshine her in anything, particularly not looks. It was clear he worshipped her, though. Maybe she had hidden depths. I scoffed at the notion. The only depths she’d revealed so far were as cold and unpleasant as the sea beneath the ship. And just as nausea inducing.

  Ella Cayse bustled between costumers, ensuring everyone was settled, but even she steered clear of Tabitha. I nudged Cheryl. “Who are the rest of these people?”

  She glared at me. “Shhh. I’m listening.”

  “The Lady Washington even appeared in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies as the HMS Interceptor!” There were oohs and ahhs as finally, the captain wound up. It wasn’t that the information wasn’t interesting to me, he was just human Valium. Once he was finally done, the costumers milled about, enjoying the excitement of setting sail from the docks. The crew, dressed in period sailing clothes, zipped up and down the rigging, swinging like pirates from the mainsail, or whatever they call it. It was rather exciting to watch.

  “Cheryl, Viola, come meet Mary Rett.” Ella waved us over, introduced us, then bustled off to do her hostess duties.

  Mary was a plain woman with mousy-brown hair, sallow skin, and a timid demeanor. Her little half-moon glasses gave her a schoolmarm look and her chocolate brown pelisse did nothing for either her figure or her complexion.

  “Lovely to meet you both.” Her voice, on the other hand, was melodious. “I understand you’re both writers. I’m so fascinated by the creative mind.”

  We chatted for a bit about the writing process and creativity in general—Mary declared she hadn’t an artistic bone in her body. At last I asked, “How long have you been with the costumers?”