Birds of Prey by J. A. Jance

And it must have been between five and six when I left her cabin.”
          “Where did you go then?”
          “I didn’t want to go back to the room. I had been crying, and I didn’t want to have to face Virginia and Sharon looking like that. So I went up to the spa. Fortunately, they’d had a last-minute cancellation, so I was able to get in for a massage. After the massage, I spent some time in the hot tub and didn’t go back down to the room until I figured Virginia and Sharon would already have left for dinner.
          “While I was upstairs in the spa, I kept trying to figure out what to do. I thought about just skipping dinner altogether, but then I thought, no. Since Margaret knew, I made up my mind to go to dinner and face the music. I was sure she was going to bring it up regardless of whether or not I was there. The only thing I could do was be there to defend myself.”
          “You thought she was going to tell?”
          Naomi nodded. “In fact, that was the last thing she said to me as I left her room — that if I thought she was going to keep this dirty little secret a secret any longer, I was crazy. So when I went to dinner, I felt like a prisoner being led to execution. I was determined that when she brought it up, I’d tell everybody the truth and get it over with once and for all. And if Virginia and Sharon decided to write me off, then I planned to leave the ship, go to the airport in Juneau and catch the first plane back to Seattle. But then, when Margaret didn’t show up at dinnertime, I was grateful. I felt as though God had given me a reprieve.”
          I nodded, remembering how Naomi’s flagging spirits had gradually revived during the course of dinner. Of course they had. Every moment Margaret delayed putting in an appearance meant one more moment of respite for Naomi before Margaret blew the whistle, which she no doubt would have done. My few dealings with the woman had shown quite clearly that she was absolutely ruthless and that she thrived on public humiliation — other people’s public humiliation.
          “And so you made up the story you told me about Margaret probably having found some new boy toy who was keeping her too preoccupied to come to dinner?”
          “It sounded plausible enough,” Naomi returned.
          Just then Virginia Metz and Sharon Carson came cruising through the lobby bar on their way to the elevators. Catching sight of the two of us sitting there, they descended on our table in a flurry of questions and shopping bags.
          “Did you hear what’s happened?” Virginia demanded at once. “Margaret is missing.”
          “We heard,” Naomi said.
          “Have they found her yet?” Sharon added.
          Naomi shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
          “Maybe we should go talk to the first officer and find out what’s happening,” Sharon Carson suggested. “He told us that if we had any questions or concerns, we should come see him right away.”
          “No,” Naomi said quietly. “Not just yet. The three of us have to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”
          I’ve wised up enough in my old age to know when to take a hint. “If you ladies will be good enough to excuse me,” I said, standing up, “I believe I’ll head on back to my cabin.”

 
     
    7
     
    O N THE WAY THROUGH the ship, I was still stunned by Naomi’s admission. I couldn’t imagine a woman being so desperate for a baby that she’d go to such lengths to conceive one. Why not use an anonymous donor? And the fact that her husband had helped hatch the plan was downright astonishing. As for Harrison Featherman — in my book he was beneath contempt. It seemed to me that Margaret Featherman had every right to be pissed as hell at both of them — at her friend Naomi Pepper and at her ex-husband as well.
          I expected I’d be able to go back to my cabin and have