I felt restless and out of sorts after lunch. I wandered up to the pool deck and leaned on the railing. I’d warned Jimmy that I was unlikely to meet the Riordans and pinpoint a potential murderer. I’d learned what I could about them, enough to know that Sophia was more than simply a threat to the lifestyle of Frank Riordan’s children. Dangerous currents swirled beneath the dark surface of that relationship. Quick-moving, quick-thinking Sophia, absorbed in her own hopes and dreams and projects, had only a cursory understanding of Frank Riordan’s children.
I understood both too little and too much. If one of the Riordans shoved a boulder or poisoned a bottle of sherry, I had no inkling of the hand behind the deed. I felt useless. I saw no way of making a difference for Sophia or Jimmy or the Riordans. Oddly, my greatest contribution might be the fact that Sophia was exceedingly wary of me. My presence might distract her from concentrating on the heirs and further alienating them.
If I couldn’t do anything more, it was time to put them out of my mind, take pleasure from the steady course of the ship, the ripple of waves, the fresh scent of the sea.
A hand gripped the railing beside me. “I have to talk to you. I’ve looked everywhere for Jimmy.” Evelyn Riordan’s voice shook. “Madge heard Jimmy say one of us pushed that boulder down the cliff and poisoned the sherry. That’s wrong, I swear it is.” Her eyes were wide and strained.
It hadn’t taken long for Madge to report the fruits of her eavesdropping. “Jimmy can’t get away from the fact that the boulder came down the hill at the exact moment Sophia was walking to her office.”
Evelyn was imploring. “Jimmy’s made a mistake. Boulders crash down all the time. For all we know, other boulders crashed down earlier when no one was around. The hillside is always unstable.”
I watched her carefully. “The night before you came on the trip, you bumped into Jimmy—”
She interrupted. “So I stumbled and the sherry spilled! Is that a crime?”
I didn’t take the bait and become defensive. I looked at her steadily. “Maybe you were preventing a crime.”
“I lost my balance on the stairs. It was an accident. Jimmy mustn’t make these absurd accusations. Henrie O, you know him so well. Please talk to him. He has to see that he’s imagining danger that isn’t there. Sophia knows better. I just talked to her.” Evelyn looked uncertain. “I don’t know whether to tell you…”
I waited.
“Oh dear.” She looked perplexed as a child, afraid to speak and afraid not to speak. “Oh dear. I suppose I should. Sophia found out from the purser that Jimmy paid your way. I don’t think she’s pleased.”
I doubted indeed that Sophia was pleased. “He paid my way because he was afraid for Sophia. I came because I’m trying to help out an old friend, and I can’t afford this kind of travel.” I waved my hand at the gleaming brass and shining whiteness of the Clio.
Evelyn looked distraught. “Afraid for her…It’s absurd to accuse the children of plotting murder. Not one of the children has ever been mean or violent. Never. But”—she took a breath—“since there isn’t anything to it”—her face brightened—“everything will work out. We’ll enjoy the trip”—she didn’t speak with conviction—“and all go home and everything will be fine and that will prove Jimmy’s wrong.” Abruptly her face crumpled like a deflated ball. “Once we get past tonight, everything will be better. Oh, the poor dear children.” She turned away.
I watched her go, her gait slow. She carried memories and fears with her, but she was convinced that Sophia faced no danger. Was she right or did she remember young faces and voices in the years before Sophia came and Vic jumped?
I started up the steps to the promenade and realized a steward was looking at me curiously. I wondered how much of our conversation he had overheard.
Julia Child would have enjoyed the decor of the restaurant named in her honor. It was styled after a formal French salon. The diners were elegant, the women in gowns and cocktail dresses, the men in tuxedos.
Our table was at the stern, a choice location befitting Sophia’s stature as a well-known traveler on the Clio. The headwaiter knew her. His attitude was admiring without being familiar. Would Mrs. Lennox want her favorite wine, the Hermitage Jean-Louis Chave Blanc? The menu tonight offered Polynesian specialities, but if there was anything else Mrs. Lennox preferred…Would Mrs. Lennox have a request for the musicians?…
The attentiveness of the waiter and his assistant as they served the courses and the beautiful music and cheerful soft-voiced chatter of other diners contrasted with the glum mood at our table. Meager conversation came in spurts and rushes with interludes of strained silence. Evelyn voiced concern about the effects of global warming. Alex pontificated that temperature fluctuations had to be considered over a span of centuries and industries didn’t need any more crippling regulations. Madge wondered why the ship didn’t have a style show instead of boring old lectures. Rosie, her face pale and drawn, spoke only when directly addressed, answering in monosyllables. Kent stared at his plate, pushed the food about, ate little. I talked about my eagerness to see the old medieval town of Tallinn, our destination tomorrow.
There was one empty place. Val wasn’t present. It was Rosie who had looked defiantly at Sophia when the waiter came to take our orders. “Val’s not feeling well. She didn’t want anything to eat.”
Sophia had raised an eyebrow, looked out at the placid sea. “Perhaps she should take some Dramamine.”
Rosie made no reply. Her hand tightened on the stem of her wineglass.
By the time the entrées arrived, Jimmy was doggedly describing the prospects for the Yankees in the playoffs and whether Jeter or Rodriguez should be MVP. Twin spots of color stained Sophia’s smooth cheeks. Her glittering gaze moved from one Riordan to another, Evelyn in a shapeless taffeta dress with a shoulder strap that kept slipping, Alex with a smear of hollandaise on his chin and a heavily laden fork, Madge smothering a yawn with carmine fingernails, Rosie’s lovely face forlorn in a swath of apricot light from the setting sun, impassive Kent crumbling a roll into tiny pellets.
Sophia looked hurt, her expression brittle, likely interpreting the strained atmosphere as dislike toward her. I didn’t glance at Jimmy, but I felt his tension.
“…His on-base percentage is better than Jeter’s but Jeter had that magnificent play…”
“Here’s the party!” The drawl was thick, the voice low and husky. Val walked toward our table, hand outstretched, finger pointing. She walked with great care, swaying though the floor was steady, the sea calm. Her brilliant red hair hung in a soft cloud around her face. She wore no makeup and looked young, young and vulnerable and drunk. A white cable sweater hung almost to the knees of her jeans. Loose thongs slapped against her feet as she walked.
Evelyn quickly rose. “Val, I’ll come with you—”
“Keep your seat, Evie.” Val pushed against Evelyn’s shoulder. “You can’t break up the party.” The singsong words slurred. “After all, it’s the golden girl’s birthday, isn’t it?” She bowed toward Sophia, righted herself with difficulty. “Sophia celebrates another year.” Val’s lips trembled. “Another year.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. She made no move to wipe them away.
The headwaiter, face impassive, moved quietly toward Sophia. “Madame, can I be of assistance?”
Sophia waved him away. Tight lines ran from her nose to the corners of her mouth. “Sit down, Val, or return to your cabin. I don’t know what prompted this, but we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
The headwaiter and several servers moved between our table and the rest of the room, unobtrusively screening our table from view. The pianist played Debussy’s Arabesque no. 1. Diners talked, unaware of the drama at our table.
Val placed her hands on the back of Evelyn’s chair, braced herself. “You don’t know what has prompted this.” She enunciated each word. “August 17.”
Sophia touched the collar of pearls at her throat. “I’m well aware that it is August 17. It happens to be my birthday. I’m sorry if that offends you, but I’ll understand if you choose not to join us.” Her tone was icy.
“You don’t remember. How about that. Out of sight, out of mind.” Val pressed shaking hands against her cheeks. “What difference did it make to you that Vic jumped off the cliff?”
The silence at our table was crushing, a weight of sorrow pulsing with anger. More shocking than the welter of emotions was the dawning comprehension on Sophia’s face. Her eyes widened, her color faded, her lips went slack.
I felt pity for Sophia. It was clear beyond doubt that she had not remembered the date of Vic Riordan’s death.
Jimmy was bewildered. “Vic?” He looked from Sophia to Val.
Val’s hands dropped, closed into fists. “You’ve got a lot to learn about Sophia, Jimmy. She’s number one, bigger than life, the only one who counts. You don’t know about Vic, do you? Sophia never told you, did she? You’ve lived in my dad’s house and you don’t know. You worried about a boulder crashing over the cliff. That’s how Vic died. My twin sister. She jumped to her death on the rocks because Sophia was making her go back to a school she hated.”
Sophia looked stricken. “The school said she was fine, that she was making a good adjustment.”
Val wavered on her feet, but her eyes, haunted, angry, implacable eyes, never moved from Sophia’s face. “Did you ever ask Vic? You didn’t bother. After all, what does a kid know about where they should live. You told Dad everything was fine. Who cares what a little kid says? They get over things, right? But Vic gave up. She went out and jumped and you’re having a party tonight.”
“Tonight…” Sophia’s words came slowly, barely above a whisper. “I knew it was August. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I hadn’t forgotten.” She lifted a shaking hand in appeal. “I’ve put it behind me, tried never to think about it. That’s what I’ve always done. I can’t let bad things pull at me or they’ll bring me down. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Val’s face was unforgiving. “That’s your problem, Sophia. Maybe you don’t mean to hurt anyone, but you do. You sent us away.” The words ran into each other. “You didn’t think about how we felt, how hard it was. And you’ve never stopped leaning on us. You convinced Dad that Alex was a fool about money. That’s one reason Dad made that will. How can Alex ever learn if he doesn’t get to try? You look at us like we’re dogs in a show. Who gets a ribbon? Who gets disqualified? Judge Sophia will say.”
A flush stained Sophia’s cheeks. “Your father had confidence in my judgment. He knew I—”
“That’s right. Financier Frank respected the lady. Let the peons bow in homage.” Val couldn’t quite articulate “homage.” She lifted her arms, made a derisive bow, lurched, and would have fallen except for Evelyn’s quick clutch of her arm.
Val shook free of Evelyn. “Sophia the All-Knowing. Have you got a Love-O-Meter tucked in your pocket? Did you hold it up and see how it registered when you decided to buy off Heather? Why don’t you tell us how you know better than anybody who we ought to marry? You didn’t care that Kent loved her. You just went to see her without a word to anybody—and for sure not to Kent—and offered her money to drop him.”
“Let it go, Val.” Kent’s face ridged with misery.
“I won’t let it go. I want to know how Sophia’s so smart.” Val cocked her head and stared at Sophia.
Sophia snapped, “Heather wasn’t suitable—”
Val flung out a hand toward Kent. “You got it, Kent? Now we know what happened. Heather wasn’t suitable.”
“All of us know a young woman who’s a bartender”—Sophia’s voice was cold, definite—“couldn’t fit into Frank Riordan’s family. The fact that she took the money shows that I was right about her.”
Kent’s chair banged to the floor as he jumped up. He flung down his napkin and strode away, almost barreling into a waiter with a heavily laden tray.
Val rubbed a tear-streaked cheek. “You got it right there. Heather took the money. And broke Kent’s heart. But he would have married her and been happy if it weren’t for you. Now you’re going to see if we all measure up to some mythical standard you’ve invented. All-Knowing Sophia.” Abruptly her face crumpled. “What does any of it matter? Take the money and burn it. Money can’t bring Vic back. Nothing will ever bring Vic back. Oh God, I should never have come. I want to go home. But we don’t have a home. You took Dad away and you took our home away and you didn’t even remember Vic.” Val turned and moved unsteadily away.
Evelyn came to her feet. “Val, wait. Val, baby, I’m coming.”
“I didn’t remember.” Sophia’s lips trembled. “I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I’m terribly sorry.”
Rosie carefully folded her napkin. “You can say you’re sorry. I hope it makes you feel better. But it’s too late, Sophia. Years too late.” She pushed back her chair, hurried after her sister and her aunt.
Alex shot a worried, uncertain look at Sophia. “I guess Madge and I’ll be on our way.” He stood, pulling his wife to her feet. “Yeah. It’s too bad. Vic was a good little kid. If I’d known…I’d gone to the movies with some guys. I didn’t know. Poor little kid. Such a long way down.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Come on, Madge.” He grabbed his wife’s arm.
We three were left, Sophia and Jimmy and I. The protective screen of waiters dispersed. Our waiter began to remove plates without a word.
Sophia huddled in her chair. She looked at Jimmy, her gaze shocked and forlorn. “They hate me. They all hate me. I thought it was best for them to go away to school after Frank and I married. They could be independent.”
Independent. Bereft of their home. Exiled, as they saw it, from their father, separated from their aunt.
Jimmy said nothing. Nor did I. Between us and Sophia there was the gulf that she couldn’t bridge. We’d had children. We’d made mistakes, many mistakes, some grievous, some that could never be remedied, but neither of us would have blithely sent bereaved children away from their home.
“The school assured us Vic would be fine, that they’d work especially hard with her.” Sophia’s tone was beseeching.
Jimmy reached out, took her hand. “Let it go, Sophia. You can’t change the past. What you need to do now is think of the future.”
“They hate me…” She was wounded, struggling to understand.
I doubted there were magic words to help Sophia, but perhaps any words were better than none. I said gently, “They’re struggling with grief.”
“But it was so many years ago.” Sophia looked bewildered.
Once again Jimmy and I were silent. He and I have both had losses in our lives. It doesn’t matter how many years ago a death occurred, the pain remains forever. There can be peace, but there can never be forgetfulness. I looked at Sophia with pity. She’d never cared for anyone enough to mourn. That might be the saddest judgment that could be made about another human being.
Sophia lifted her chin. She spoke with a flash of defiance. “I certainly wish I’d remembered, but surely they understand I didn’t deliberately ignore the date. Why, if I’d thought, we could have had a memorial dinner for Vic. I wonder if I should plan something special?”
I could hear Rosie’s bitter words: …Come, sisters and brothers, stand up and talk about Vic…
This wasn’t any of my business, but I hoped to prevent an offer that would simply make matters worse. “Sometimes it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“I’d say the dogs are howling.” Her tone was caustic, her eyes hurt. “I always meant well for them. I don’t know what Frank would want me to do.”
Jimmy looked at her gravely. “Don’t think about it tonight. Tomorrow will be a new day. You can get off to a fresh start with them.”
“And they”—Sophia was unsmiling—“with me.”