Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
“ I t’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?” I say softly as I step in next to Visalia Jones right here at the Titanic exhibit at the Maritime Museum in Halifax.
Visalia does a double take my way.
“Oh, Trixie.” She presses a hand to her chest. “You scared me.” She gives a few rapid blinks and I can see the tears lining her lashes. “Yes, it really is heartbreaking. You read about it, hear the stories, but seeing these things…” she trails off and her voice catches. “It really brings it all home.”
“It sure does.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder briefly. “And again, I’m so sorry about Merritt,” I say, keeping my voice low. “You were her publicist. I’m assuming the two of you were close.”
“Oh, we were.” Visalia nods as her gaze drops to the floor. “We were. Closer at times than others, but regardless. It’s been tough. You just don’t think someone so relatively young and vibrant is just going to stop existing, no matter what the circumstances might be.”
“I agree with that.” Silence thickens the air between us but is quickly filled by the distant murmurs of other visitors. I give a quick glance around, and sure enough, there’s no sign of my questionably friendly ghost so I’ll have to go it alone. “You know, grief is an odd thing. It doesn’t care how complicated a relationship was. It just hurts.”
“I know grief all too well.” Visalia sighs as she presses a wadded-up tissue to her eyes. “You might even say that I’ve taken a crash course in it. I lost my mom last winter—through an auto accident. She was distracted and flew off an icy embankment. And then I lost my dad just a few months later. The doctor said he died from a broken heart.” She sheds a tiny smile, but it’s laced with pain. “I still have their ashes. Thought I’d keep them on the mantel for a while, but honestly, it’s become too much. So just before the trip I was trying to make arrangements. I think it’s time to put them in their final resting place.”
“I’m so sorry to hear it. To lose one parent is tough enough, but both? That’s beyond what I can imagine.” My heart aches just hearing it. “Have you decided where you’d like to lay them to rest?”
“I’m leaning toward the local cemetery. My siblings and I toured it last week. And, ouch, it’s a lot more expensive than I expected,” she admits with a sad chuckle. “My sister wanted to put them in separate niches, just their names etched into these tiny cubbies. But I want something more. There are these small glass boxes inside the mausoleum—they’re called memory boxes. You can decorate them with memorabilia, photos, and I can even put in their wedding cake topper. My mother saved it all. Her marriage was everything to her. It was a strong marriage, too. Anyway, I can decorate the box seasonally, and it would feel as if I were visiting my parents, especially if I could see their wedding picture in there with their urns. It’s what I’m hoping for.”
“It sounds as if you’ve made up your mind. The memory box sounds lovely. I hadn’t heard of that before.”
“Well, it’s a relatively new concept at our cemetery. And as much as I may have made up my mind about it, some of my siblings aren’t convinced. They’re not cheap. The memory boxes I’m interested in are eye-level, and you won’t believe how expensive they are—to the tune of fifty thousand.”
“Dollars?” I say a touch too loud and she gives a quick nod. “Dying certainly isn’t for the faint of heart, is it? Or at least it’s not for the survivors. ”
She laughs. “Certainly not. We’re also considering a shared crypt—a wall unit near the memory boxes—so it’s at least nearby all the glitz and glamour that drew me in with those. But the crypt is about twenty-eight thousand, and that’s with one that’s nearly next to the ceiling. But my siblings don’t seem to mind. I’d rather they were lower, though. Closer. It’s silly, I know.”
“No, it’s not silly,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking. “We want our loved ones close. My dad passed when I was a teenager. He wasn’t there to walk me down the aisle. I like to think if he had been, maybe he would’ve talked some sense into me the first time around.”
We share a little laugh at Stanton’s expense.
“I’d like to think he was there with you in spirit,” she says. “The same way I’d like to think my parents are here with me.”
“I’m sure they’re looking after you.” I cast a quick glance around, and they’re not here at this moment. I offer another mournful smile. “What about support? Do you have anyone else to lean on besides your siblings?”
She pulls her bright pink trench coat firmer around her body. “Not really. I’ve been pouring myself into work. It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane. And now with Merritt gone, well, I might just have to find another line of work. She was pretty much a full-time job.” She gives a little wink as she says it.
“I can only imagine,” I say.
“Oh, and I’m actually trying to enjoy my time on this planet with a renewed vigor. The death of my parents really drove home the point of how precious and fleeting each day is. I’ve been taking care of my health—walking in the evenings. I’ve even got myself a membership at the gym. And I’ve done a revamp of my diet. I’m eating so much more fiber. In fact, I’m drinking it, too. I’ve even brought along a bag of my psyllium husk to get me through the cruise. Of course, I can’t resist the delicious foods on the ship, but I figure one week won’t kill me.” She takes a step away, and I can feel my time with her wrapping up.
“Visalia, was Merritt having trouble with anyone as of late? Or maybe I should rephrase that—anyone that stands out?”
I think we both know Merritt was a contentious person to deal with, but I would never want to say that out loud while the woman is grieving.
Death has a way of wiping the patina of contentious behavior off of people and earning them saint-like status in some people’s eyes, especially when the grief is still fresh.
She tips her head thoughtfully before giving me a sidelong glance. “I don’t know who did it, but Merritt and Kimball had one doozy of an argument just before we boarded the ship. It was so bad, I was shocked to see him at her bon voyage party.”
“That’s terrible. And a little strange. Kimball and I go way back, and if anything, he’s always so even-keeled.”
“You know as well as I do that Merritt could bring out the monster in just about anyone.” She shudders. “And that brings me to Josie.” She winces a little. “I think she was actually the one person who got along pretty well with Merritt. Or at least Josie knew how to manage the woman. But lately, they, too, were exchanging some heated words. I’m not entirely sure what that was about, but I do know that money was mentioned.” Her shoulders hike a notch. “Other than that, I’ve got nothing. Merritt was a diva. She wrote thrillers with more twists and turns than a back country road. Who knows? Maybe she had some stark-raving mad fan? Maybe they’re on that ship with us? I guess we’ll never know.” She stares straight ahead and drifts for a moment. “Excuse me, Trixie. I could really use a cup of coffee or something to perk me back to life. All this talk about dark things is really starting to get to me.”
“I completely understand.”
She takes off and I stare in her wake.
I’m about to head off and look for Bess and Nettie when someone steps in close from behind and whispers, “You’re not as safe as you think.”