Chapter 11
“Ms. Rogers, so lovely to meet you,” Theresa Graves said as she stood up from a private table and extended her hand to Sheila.
“Oh please, call me Sheila.”
“Are you okay?” Theresa said, gesturing to Sheila’s bandaged head.
“I’ll be fine. I fell this morning and have a mild concussion,” Sheila said with a light slur. Goodness, she should not have drunk so much at the crop. She sat down and sipped from her water.
“I’m so excited to meet you,” Theresa said. She had a Texas twang; “you” had at least three syllables by the time she was finished with it. Sheila made a note to concentrate in order to not mimic Theresa. She loved the accent—but anytime she was around people who had an accent of any kind she found herself copying them. What was that about anyway?
“Thank you,” Sheila managed to say, like a Virginian, not a Texan. “The pleasure is mine. I’ve admired your products for many years.”
“That’s good to know,” Theresa said. “We love hearing from our customers, of course. Especially from ones with the design skills you have.”
The waiter approached them with the menus. It had been one buffet after the other. A menu was a pleasant change.
“Thanks for that,” Sheila said. “I love what I do.”
After they ordered, Sheila’s eyes wandered to the ocean. So shockingly blue and pristine. A feeling of peace and joy came over her, even though her head was starting to pound again. She reached into her bag for another ibuprofen.
“Virginia’s ocean doesn’t look like that,” she said.
“I imagine not. I rarely go to the coast. I’m just so busy with working and keeping up with my four kids.”
“Four kids? Me, too,” Sheila said.
“It’s rare to meet another mother with four children,” Theresa said, and smiled. “Maybe we should order a bottle of champagne.”
“Sure,” Sheila said, mustering a smile. Good God, if she had any more booze today, she might just tipple right over. She’d be sure to eat plenty so she’d not make a complete fool out of herself.
“Our company is considering starting a branch that’s just focused on education. We’ve always been education focused, but we’re putting even more of a focus on it. We’re starting a Life Arts Academy,” Theresa said after their lunch came, then the bottle.
“Sounds interesting,” said Sheila.
“We’re looking for teachers,” Theresa said. She was a very thin woman and reminded Sheila of a bird. Kind of a droopy, long, skinny bird. She had long jowls and sad, long eyes. “Would you be interested in joining us as a faculty member?”
“Where would this academy be located?”
“Actually, there will be a headquarters at our offices in Houston, but it will all be online. Isn’t that exciting?” Theresa’s hound dog eyes lit up momentarily with excitement.
Sheila shrugged. “Maybe. I think that in-person classes are so much better. I’d miss the interaction.”
“But you’d interact online. And a few times a year go to conferences to teach,” Theresa said, then took a bite of her pasta salad.
“That does sound better.” Sheila didn’t want to cut off any opportunities, but she was really hoping for a freelance design job from home. Maybe she could do both. “I’ve designed this scrapbook-journal, which I entered the contest with. Did you see it?”
“Loved it,” the woman said, now intent on picking something out of her salad. “I loved the color scheme.”
“I was wondering about getting something like that published or made into my own scrapbook line.”
Theresa looked up from her food. “Ambitious. I like that.” She held up her champagne glass as the waiter poured first in her glass and then Sheila’s.
“To ambition!” Theresa said, and clinked Sheila’s glass.
“Here, here!” Sheila said, and sipped from her glass.
“I’d like to take another look at that scrapbook-journal.”
“Well, I have photos, but I don’t have the book. Someone borrowed it last night and—”
“Okay, I’ll take a look at the photos after tonight’s crop. How’s that sound?”
If she had really remembered the book, why did they need to meet again? Hmmm. Sheila wondered if Theresa was blowing smoke up her ass.
“Well, okay,” Sheila said, trying to seem enthusiastic, but she had a bad feeling about this.
Later, she met her friends back at the crop table. Deeply involved in scrapbooking, none of them paid much attention to her entrance. Randy finished a few pages and Paige was agog over them. “Who knew?” she said, and shrugged her shoulders. “My son!”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Vera said. “He’s a pastry chef. So artistic.”
His pages featured several of his desserts and journal entries about them: how he came up with the ideas, what had inspired him, and how many tries it took to get the dessert to the perfection he needed.
“Makes me hungry,” Sheila said.
“How was your lunch?” Vera asked.
“Okay. Theresa and I are going to meet later. She wanted to see the book I designed, but I told her I only have pictures. I’ve no idea when I’m getting that back. It’s so frustrating. But I have another meeting tomorrow with David’s Designs. I’m hoping to have my scrapbook back by then.”
“That’s the one you’re most excited about, right?” Randy said.
“I love David’s Designs. They do all kinds of things. I had a friend who had furniture that was David’s Designs—to die for. I love designing and I love their work. But Life Arts offered me a job,” she said, and then explained about the offer.
As she did so, the ship listed to the side, sending papers, glue, cutting instruments, glitter, and every kind of embellishment imaginable reeling over the sides of tables. Sheila grabbed on to what she could while trying not to fall over herself. Sounds of screams, gasps, and curse words filled the air.
“Please remain calm,” came a voice over the intercom.
“This is your captain. We’ve run into an unexpected turbulence. We’re cutting back the engines.”
The ship slowly righted itself.
Paige was on the floor, with Randy helping her up. She was covered in glitter and growling about it as she spit it out of her mouth and tried to brush it off her clothes.
Vera and Eric huddled together on the floor before making their way to the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again. We’ve cut engines until we get the weather all-clear from the Coast Guard. As you were. Have fun cropping.”
Easy for you to say, Sheila thought. What a messed up day—topped off by being on a cruise ship with a killer.
Could this cruise get any worse?