Iris Everafter: Iris Winterbek Adventures, #3

By Nancy Bartlett

Christmas with a Chance of Drowning

 

A water-phobic Christmas junkie. A criminal kingpin. A wayward sailboat. All tangled up in the Gulf Stream.

 

Iris Winterbek is preparing for her favorite holidiay when her past returns in the form of a murderous Russian oligarch. Suddenly, instead of a white Christmas, she's adrift in sunny Florida, where there is no hope of snow.

Holed up on a sailboat, which keeps tilting, making it really hard to decorate the tree, Iris is disgruntled, disoriented, and out of her element. Then her friends arrive bearing gifts and lead the bad guys straight to her.

As usual, Iris finds herself simultaneously running for cover and hurtling into danger. With lives on the line, Iris must put down the eggnog latte and, once again, launch herself into action hero mode.

And this time it's sink or swim.

Iris Everafter is the third installment of Iris Winterbek Adventures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Bartlett
• Release date: Dec 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781735309347

Nancy Bartlett

Nancy Bartlett is an adventure junkie who lives and writes on a sailboat, travels every chance she gets, and knows what it's like to wind up in unexpected scrapes. She especially loves getting back out of them. A non-stop reader, her favorite fiction and non-fiction involves the stories of intrepid women. She always hopes one of them will teach her how to avoid her next disaster. She has a passion for all things salt water, and a particular concern for the marine environment. With her husband, Tom, she has cruised the entire East Coast of the US, sometimes offshore and sometimes inshore along the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway (ICW). In a former life Nancy was a technical writer tasked with describing things like lasers, software, and corporate procedures. She’s much happier now that she spends her days on a boat, dreaming up ways to get fictional people in and out of trouble. That does not mean that the trouble they get into won’t someday involve HR policies or very bright lights. Curious about the world of a live aboard novelist? Visit www.tidallife.com. See Nancy’s photos on Instagram at @tidallife.ig.

Book preview

Prologue

There was nothing but white as far as the eye could see. The kind of white that dazzles, dizzies and, when combined with life-extinguishing cold, terrifies.

Faced with such an expanse, some stand still, staring in frightened awe. Some run back inside, in search of a comforting cup of hot, spiked eggnog. A few walk into it as if drawn by unseen, uncanny forces.

It wasn’t until the assistant tour director caught up with her, calling Ms. Rove, stop, Ms. Rove, and tugging on her sleeve, that Amy came to her senses and realized she was one of the latter.

***

Turning around and following the man back toward the rocky beach, Amy found she’d walked a quarter of a mile toward the center of Antarctica, totally unaware of what she was doing. Her hands, stiffly raised in front of her chest, held her camera as if she’d been taking pictures. But when she looked to see the images she’d taken, there were none.

Rejoining the group near the shore, she saw that everyone held a camera in front of themselves the same way. And everyone knew they’d never be able to capture this place. That's what they were saying. That stopped no one from trying.

Amy, fighting to get back in her right mind, wanted to use her camera. Still unable to tear her eyes off the snow, the subtle patterns, the layers of light, she fumbled with her gloves. The puffy fingertips only squashed each time she tried to press down the button. Maybe that’s why she had no images from her solitary march into the white. When she took the gloves off she managed to get a couple of shots – one of the far-off misty outline of mountains, one of her booted feet surrounded by sunstruck crystals – before she thought she was going to die.

She’d never really been one for the cold. The stories of danger that she wrote featured trips to warmer regions, or cities with plenty of sheltering cafes. Antarctica was her last continent, though. And an adventure travel writer could not stay away forever. So here she was. And the adventure here began with the unfamiliar feeling of being overcome by an environment.

***

Back aboard ship an hour later, Amy made her way out onto the deck and leaned against the rail. The vista of snow still mesmerized her. The sheer vastness of it. She wanted to see what was out there. Tomorrow they were scheduled for a sled trip to the interior.

Mom would love this view. She wouldn’t be so wild about being on a boat, nor the extreme cold. And she certainly wouldn’t be up for a trek across it, no matter how much Amy cajoled her to stretch herself. But it was almost Christmas, and Iris Winterbek lived for White Christmas.

I’m dreaming . . . Amy hummed, la la laaa la laa. She caught herself singing out loud, stopped and smiled. I should call Mom.

Her phone showed no bars. What did the cruise guide say about phone service? She found a sheltered spot in the sun where the air didn’t make her face hurt quite as badly and opened her laptop. She’d saved the guides on her desktop. After reading those and getting the info she needed, she tried the internet instead. The shipboard WiFi was pretty good, and the ship’s home page shared some more interesting links about Antarctica. She signed in to her email, responded to her brother’s Christmas greeting, and sent answers to a couple of editors who wanted to know if she would be interested in assignments. The one about kayaking the Inside Passage to Alaska this summer intrigued her. She’d be on board for that. The other, a dude ranch in Saudi Arabia, sounded dreadful. Luxury pampering with a few faux activities thrown in was not her thing. If it wasn’t real, she was not interested. Plus, she’d been there and done that and had no more patience for gushing, self-absorbed influencers. She’d only accept that one if the magazine wanted a snarky sendup.

Next, she created a post of her morning for Instagram, including the standard hashtags, then added a few of her own for laughs: #whereamI #antarcticaforantarcticans #snowwhatsnow. After which she waded into the news sites. There were always good story ideas in the headlines. Or, barring that, warnings of areas a travel writer might want to avoid for a while. Finally, she did a quick check on happenings at home in Seattle.

Moments later, heart hammering, Amy took out her phone again. Of course it still showed no bars. Damn. Afraid she was taking a huge chance, she logged into the messaging app she’d set up for communication with Martina. Her friend was still on the lam, so no telling when she’d be able to connect and see Amy’s message.

She’d only attempted to contact the woman a couple of times since leaving Dublin in August. The crazy chase that led to Iris meeting Martina, and to Amy helping her escape from her abusive lover, had been the high point of their Ireland adventure. It had also been the most frightening.

The last message she’d seen was about a month ago. It had said:

All safe. Please continue vigilance and care. Merci, Moira.

Moira was the code name Iris had given their new friend when they put her on the bus that would take her to a secret location. So she was still in hiding from Dimitri, her oligarch ex-boyfriend.

Amy typed in a new message, just two words:

Hello, Friend.

Then she pasted in the link to the Seattle Times article about Dimitri, and sent the message.

She turned back to her laptop and studied the photo. Martina’s ex was a handsome man, with high-chiseled cheekbones and only a touch of gray in his black hair. But that smile. It reminded Amy of the old song about Cruella Deville. She’d seen eyes like that watching her from underneath rocks.

Cold to the bone now, Amy closed her laptop and took it back to her cabin. It was time to go to dinner. Though she might not be able to eat much with her stomach in knots at the idea of Dimitri Belovsky in Seattle, searching for her mother. She took a deep breath of the heated cabin air to warm and calm herself. Rather than sit here and freak out, she needed to do normal things until Martina responded.

The cruise director gave them a little more news about the weather event she’d mentioned that morning. The effort was meant to calm the passengers, but the actual effect was to heighten anxiety. A buzz of hushed conversation permeated the room as the one hundred passengers exchanged concerned glances. Unprecedented was a heavy word.

What did unprecedented mean in the context of Antarctic weather? No one knew. So no one was comforted. Still, it was good to know more than they had a few hours before. They now had an idea of about when this unprecedented weather event was due to hit them. The crew was preparing. The sled trip was being pushed up an hour. They’d go right after lunch.

Back in the privacy of her cabin, Amy quickly checked to see if there was a response from Martina. There was.

Face as white and frozen as the snowscape off the port side of the vessel, Amy turned from Martina's message and began the process of getting word to her mother. She might have to miss the sled trip.

First things first, she had to get control of herself and figure out how to break the news to Iris without sending her into orbit. Which was pretty much where Amy herself was right now.

The reply from Martina had been succinct:

Another Friend.

Like Amy, Martina had pasted in a link. This one brought up an article in a Swiss paper: Parisian Socialite Found Tortured to Death at Renowned Spa.

The story was grisly.

She had to get back to Seattle to protect her mother. But as the ship had only arrived in Antarctica that morning and wouldn’t be heading back to Argentina for six more days, that was going to be tough. She couldn’t afford to hire a helicopter to come out to the boat and pick her up. All she could do was call Iris and convince her to leave town.

It would be a delicate dance. She worked on calming herself. To stop the frantic pacing around the tiny cabin, she dropped to the floor, cross-legged, and made an effort to slow her breathing. She wasn’t any good at meditation, but the simple change of position was some help. Now to figure out how to inject enough anxiety into her message to get the point across to her mother, while also tempering what she said with a dash of Do-Not-Panic. She actually wanted Iris to panic, but not in the way Iris would normally panic. Not in a way that would attract attention.

Slow down, she told herself. According to the cruise director, she had twelve hours to accomplish this feat. Twelve hours to figure out a way to get her mother out of town and to a safe place before their satellite link was likely to go out for an indeterminate span. With one last deep breath she got to her feet. An idea had come to her.

Pacing at the rail, cold forgotten, phone in hand, she searched for a spot with enough bars. Nothing. She would have to call from the ship’s phone. But phone security was secondary to Iris’ bodily safety, so she went inside and dialed the number using the shipboard line. As her cousin’s line rang, Amy cleared her throat and modulated her voice to hide her panic.

Hey, Carrie, how are you doing?

Amy? What a surprise. We haven’t talked in years, and now twice in three months.

Amy noticed Carrie didn’t specify the occasion of the last time they’d spoken. Not too surprising. The funeral had been ghastly, embarrassing, frightful. She certainly wasn’t going to remind Carrie of the things people had said about Carrie’s mom, Amy’s Aunt Mona.

I know, it’s too bad we’ve been so distant. How are things in the security business? She cringed at the syrupy sound of her own voice.

Fine. Carrie sounded guarded. Busy.

That’s so great. Listen, I feel like a complete jerk for calling you about this, but I have to ask for a massive favor.

What’s up? Carrie didn’t sound like she really wanted to know.

Amy girded her loins and waded in. It’s Mom. I’m stuck on a ship in Antarctica and she’s going to be alone at Christmas.

Antarctica? What are you doing there?

I’m on a travel industry press junket. I’m writing about it for Outside.

That’s amazing, I’d love to go to Antarctica. Tell me all about it. Or are you embargoed until the article comes out?

I can tell you it’s amazeballs, Amy laughed, putting verbal air quotes around the once trendy phrase. But Carrie, I’ve got a crisis on my hands. I was planning to be back by Christmas Eve, but this afternoon they announced that there’s going to be a weather delay. They’re worried about an unprecedented weather pattern coming our way. With climate change, they don’t know how bad it’s going to be. They don’t want the ship to leave the sheltered bay where she’s currently anchored. The forecast shows the storm could last as long as three days, and depending on conditions for the return trip, that means we may not make it back to Ushuaia, Patagonia, until Christmas Eve. If that’s the case, I’d not get home until the twenty-seventh at the earliest.

Carrie made a sympathetic noise. A good sign.

Amy took a deep, calming breath and went on. You know how my Mom is about Christmas. She’ll be an emotional mess without someone there. Especially this first Christmas after your Mom’s passing. Bobby and Carlotta took the kids to see Carlotta’s family in Italy. Which is not a big problem as Bobby’s not the best at Christmas anyway. My concern is, if things get really bad here, the news would end Mom. You’re her last remaining relative. So I wonder, could she come spend Christmas with you?

There was a long silence. Which allowed Amy to reflect on the lame excuse she’d offered. But there wasn’t time to tell the whole story. Explaining to a cousin she hadn’t been close to in twenty years why a Russian oligarch might be stalking Iris with murder on his mind would take quite a while. Plus, this was a shipboard link. The line was not as secure as she’d like. Belovsky was a powerful man. No telling how far his tentacles reached.

We’re talking about ten days. Carrie paused. That is one big favor.

Amy opened her mouth to start groveling, but Carrie went on.

You’re going to owe me. But sure, Aunt Iris is a hoot. And she needs a good shakeup every now and then. I’ll give her an interesting holiday. She laughed. It won’t be white, though. I hope she can deal with a Christmas full of palm trees and coconuts.

Amy cringed. That would be a problem. I’m sure she can, she lied. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, so much Carrie. I will owe you big time for this.

Don’t worry. I’ll extract payment from your Mom. Carrie gave an evil laugh. And I know you’ll be fine. Ships are made to take weather.

Amy gritted her teeth. It was too much to hope that the holiday would not end in tears of one kind or another. But resumption of the family rift would still be better than bloodshed. She ended the call with a promise to talk again soon about final plans.

Having arranged the Florida end of things, Amy felt slightly better. Though she shuddered to think what Carrie had in mind as payback. Then her eyes returned to the picture of Dimitri Belovsky. Chiseled features. Slavic cheekbones. That might be a smirk on his face, but otherwise he looked like a prosperous businessman of about her own age. If it weren’t for those eyes, he’d look comfortable and benign. But then she remembered the Swiss news story and her heart constricted. Whatever Carrie wanted, Amy would pay it.

Maybe she was being paranoid. She looked at the first article again. Martina’s ex was in Seattle to meet with executives from some of the largest companies in the world. One in the transportation industry. Another in retail. Both heavily into tech. He would be attending a trade forum whose speakers included Bill Gates and other local tycoons. Nothing to worry about. It was the line about taking the opportunity to look up some friends of an old girlfriend that spiked her fear.

How many friends of old girlfriends could a Paris-based crime boss have in Seattle?

Chapter 1

A spiral of creamy white spun into glistening swirls of ever-deepening hue. Each galaxy of color made of tiny, iridescent spheres caught and reflected the cheery light. Iris Winterbek, gazing down into her cup, inhaled, and wondered if macchiato might be the Italian word for heaven.

Lifting the pristine white china cup, she took a careful sip and closed her eyes. Yes, that’s what this was, heaven with caramel syrup on top.

It was perhaps a little late in the day for coffee. She usually didn’t allow herself caffeine after lunchtime. But after that water aerobics workout, she felt entitled to a treat. And she’d be on her feet for the next few hours, too. She needed the pick-me-up.

Turning to the sunny window ringed with green and red twinkling lights, Iris sat up straight and scanned the parking lot. Amanda and Emily still had not arrived. No matter, she was fine here alone in this friendly crowd with this very loud Christmas music, because this was her favorite Starbucks and she had a caramel macchiato. She smiled at the little girl at the next table who was holding a candy cane and was about to ask if she’d been to see Santa Claus, when her phone rang.

Amy? I can’t hear you. What? Iris looked around at the packed coffee shop. She couldn’t hear the crackly voice over all the talking and music. Wait. I’m going to go outside.

With traffic noise in the background, outside wasn’t much better than inside, but at least she could shout, What? Speak up! without everyone glaring at her. This time the words were slightly clearer.

Did you say Tim? I don’t know anyone named Tim.

I said, DI-MI-TRI. Amy was shouting now.

Iris stopped with a gasp. Oh, yes, she did know a Dimitri. The only Dimitri that Amy would call from the wilds of Africa to tell her about. Dimitri? Do you mean Martina’s Dimitri?

YES!

Iris’ world began to spin out of control.

Amy shouted at her some more. Her crazy daughter was insisting that she had to get out of town. She couldn’t do that, she was going Christmas shopping with her friends.

Someone had died in Switzerland. Iris struggled to process this news.

Martina is fine, by the way.

I’m glad to hear that, said Iris.

Then she thought Amy said she was to go stay with her niece, Carrie.

What? Mona’s daughter?

Yes. I’ve booked you a ticket to Florida for eight o’clock tonight.

Hold on, Amy. Amy, stop. I’m confused. I can’t leave town tonight. I have last-minute Christmas shopping to do. I haven’t wrapped Emily and Amanda’s gifts yet, and I’m cooking Christmas dinner for all of you. I’ve already ordered the turkey. And Florida? Absolutely not. There is no Christmas in Florida.

Mom. Amy’s voice was hard. I’m stuck in Antarctica . . . the weather . . .

Antarctica? I thought you were going to Mali.

Bali. I did. That was my first stop. Then Patagonia, where we boarded the ship. Anyway, the point is, I was supposed to be back Christmas Eve, but things have changed. All I can tell you is I cannot make it home in time for Christmas. You have to go see Carrie.

Amy, I refuse. I don’t like warm Christmases. I went to LA once. It was awful. I’ll just suck it up and we can have Christmas when you get here.

MOM. I am not asking. I am ordering you to leave Seattle tonight. You’re in danger. Dimitri is after you.

Don’t be silly. What would he want with me? And I have a hair appointment tomorrow.

Get it done in Fort Lauderdale. What better place? Carrie’s into fashion. She’ll know a good stylist. Go spend some time with Carrie. She wants to hear the story of how you and her mom patched things up at the end.

She sure didn’t like what I said at the funeral, said Iris.

She’s over that.

Are you sure? She seemed awfully upset.

I promise, she’s fine.

"But I hate Christmas where it’s hot. It makes no sense at