I should put the finishing touches on my packing after I take Wanda home," Miles said.

Myrtle was sure that whatever Miles was doing with his packing was basically just shifting things from one side of the suitcase to the other. Miles was so particular and so neat that she knew that the items in his suitcase were color-coded, organized into zipper bags, and were something of a work of art.

Myrtle, on the other hand, felt confident that she at least had everything packed that she needed. Instead of looking at her packed bags one more time before tomorrow, she grabbed her cane for the walk downtown to the Bradley Bugle office to see her editor, Sloan.

Her mind wasn't on anything but Sloan. This is why, when she hurriedly yanked open her front door, she gaped at the one person she most didn't want to see there. Erma. Wanda had warned her, hadn't she?

Erma Sherman, Myrtle's next door nightmare of a neighbor, grinned at her with that horrid grin. "Where you headed in such a hurry?" asked Erma nosily.

"Business!" said Myrtle. "Got to go. Running late."

"Where? Downtown?" asked Erma. She gave her braying, donkey's laugh. "Must be downtown. You couldn't walk much farther than that, could you? Not being old and whatnot."

Myrtle was quite certain she could walk much farther than downtown, but she wasn't about to debate the point with Erma. Arguing with Erma, she'd learned from past experience, was completely futile in every way.

"You're right about me heading downtown, at any rate. See you later, Erma." And she went thumping off with her cane with great determination.

"Wait! Wait! I'll drive you there. Got to go there myself," said Erma.

Myrtle feared that Erma wanted an audience to listen to her usual recitation of whatever blight she was currently inflicted with. Her illnesses tended to be both repugnant and graphically recounted. Myrtle repressed a shudder. "No thank you. I need the exercise."

"Me too! I need exercise, too!" said Erma in a desperate tone.

This was true. Erma did need exercise. What's more, Myrtle could tell when she'd lost. Wanda had been right—she should have watched out as she left home. Now she was stuck. "All right then. You can walk with me," grated Myrtle behind her clenched teeth.

As she'd guessed, Erma was dying for someone to talk to. Her long-suffering immune system had just successfully battled a bizarre virus with many disturbing side effects, deftly described in some depth by Erma.

Myrtle grimly forged forward. She decided that the best way to combat Erma's assault was by launching one of her own. She settled on a different boorish tactic—talking about one's vacation.

Erma was saying, "The rash, you see, was unbearably itchy and—"

Myrtle broke in, "Did you know that I'm leaving for a cruise?" Of course Erma didn't. Miles and Myrtle would have been the people who told her of it, and they were the ones avoiding her at all costs.

Erma gaped at her. "A cruise? You?" She burst into braying laughter.

"That's right," said Myrtle, bristling now and forgetting her mission to bore the bore. "What of it? What's so funny about that?"

"Only that you never go anywhere! And you don't spend any money. In fact, I don't believe you have any money." Erma peered at Myrtle, seeming at last to sense some hostility. "Come on, Myrtle, don't be mad. You know that's true. What kind of cruise is it? Did you win it?"

"I did not win it," said Myrtle coldly. "And if I don't spend a lot of money, that's because I like to save it for special occasions. Like this one. I'm going on an Alaskan cruise, as a matter of fact."

"Sayyy," said Erma admiringly. "That should be pretty nice. Are you up for something like that? Isn't there a lot of biking and zip-lining and walking and so forth?"

Not too much farther to the newspaper office. Myrtle said in a stiff voice, "I walk very well, as you can see. I don't, however, think there will be biking and zip-lining in my immediate future."

Erma grabbed Myrtle's non-cane arm, making Myrtle recoil. "Sayyy," she said again. "Is this a romantic trip? Who else is going? Is Miles?"

"Miles is going. Since Miles is my friend, it does not fall under the definition of a romantic trip. It's a family trip. Red and Elaine and even little Jack are coming along," said Myrtle. She spotted the Bradley Bugle office, now looking like a refuge for lost souls, come into sight.

Erma dropped her arm, looking disappointed at losing the opportunity to know some really juicy gossip. "The baby is going?"

Myrtle drew herself up and said haughtily, "He's not a baby. He's nearly three, in preschool, and completely brilliant. He takes after his Nana—everyone says so. What's more, he's enormously well-behaved."

Naturally, at this moment, Elaine pulled up beside them in her minivan. She rolled down her window, allowing Jack's enraged yells to be released from the confines of the vehicle. Elaine gave a fleeting expression of shock at Myrtle's walking companion, and said quickly, "Need anything from the store, since I'm heading there?"

"No thank you," said Myrtle. "And I'll assume you're torturing my grandson since I was just bragging how well-behaved he is."

Elaine gave a ragged smile. "He is well-behaved eighty percent of the time. The rest is pure toddler angst." She drove away, Jack acting as a siren as they went.

Myrtle was undeterred. "He's ordinarily very good."

"If you say so. Okay, well, I'll keep an eye on your house for you while you're gone. Is this one of those 5-day things?" asked Erma, still hoping to hear something negative about the cruise.

"No, it's one of those twelve-day trips with a couple of travel days," said Myrtle, crossing the street to head for the newspaper office.

"Then I'll see you in two weeks!" called Erma as Myrtle quickly walked away.

"Not if I see you first," muttered Myrtle under her breath.

Myrtle pushed open the old, wooden door to the newspaper office. As usual, it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust from the bright sunshine outside to the dimness of the newsroom. It took her even a few more moments before she spotted her editor and former student, Sloan. He was blocked by a teetering pile of old paper, newspapers, and photos. A calendar hanging on a nearby wall was seven years old. It was the land that time forgot.

Sloan scrambled to his feet when he saw her. "Miss Myrtle!" He was a hefty man of Red's age who automatically reverted to guilty schoolboy whenever he saw her. He'd been a completely unremarkable English student when Myrtle taught him. It was still hard for her to wrap her brain around the fact that Sloan was editor of the town's newspaper. Red, in an effort to keep his mother busy, had pushed Sloan into giving Myrtle her own helpful hints column in the paper. Instead, Myrtle wrote investigative pieces as much as she possibly could. Sloan had started out as terrified of Myrtle as if it had only been yesterday that he'd endured her wrath in the classroom. Now, however, he'd grown somewhat more comfortable around her.

"Boy, am I glad to see you, Miss Myrtle. I was worried you were going to fly away for your trip before we had an opportunity for a powwow," said Sloan. He solicitously pulled out a rolling chair for Myrtle, first removing a teetering pile of papers from it.

"The powwow, I'm presuming, is on the subject of Wanda?" asked Myrtle, delicately sitting in the rolling chair, which looked as if it might go careening madly across the room with her in it.

"That's right. It's kind of a delicate situation," said Sloan. His large and ever-expanding forehead starting perspiring.

"Let me guess. Wanda's horoscopes are a hit. However, Wanda's submitted copy is ... challenging," said Myrtle. "Rather indescribable."

Sloan nodded. "Oh, I think I could come up with a few words to describe it. The grammar is so rocky that her sentences sometimes aren't recognizable as English. The only saving grace has been the fact that you've kindly provided your own translation and editing services for the paper."

Myrtle gave a gracious nod.

"And now," said Sloan, tugging anxiously at his shirt collar, "you're heading off for a couple of weeks. I'm not sure that I'll be able to contact you by phone."

"For heaven's sake, no! Don't you dare call me. I've got to have some kind of crazy cell phone plan if I receive phone calls or text messages on the ship or on some of those excursions. That would cost me a mint!" said Myrtle, shuddering.

Sloan's face grew even more dismayed. "Then I'm just not sure what I'm gonna do, Miss Myrtle. Could you provide me with some sort of Rosetta stone so that I can make heads or tails of Wanda's physic scribbles? I can't just put her column on a break for a couple of weeks."

Myrtle sighed. "I know. I tried to get her to come up with some horoscopes early so that I could proof them and shoot them over to you. But she told me that wasn't how the sight worked. My only advice to you is to sit down with her when she comes in to deliver them. It's not like she doesn't know she's functionally illiterate. That's no secret. Get her to translate everything and then run it. I'll be back before you know it."

Sloan said, "All right. I guess that's all I can do. And speaking of delivering copy, have you got something for me?"

Myrtle pressed her lips together in annoyance. She was ready to move past her helpful hints column and into full-time crime reporting. She loved the long investigative pieces she'd done for the paper on Bradley's various murders. Myrtle was sure if Bradley had more crime, she'd have more stories and wouldn't have time to do columns on stain removal.

"I've emailed you something. And I knew that you were going to want a report, a travel article, detailing my cruise," said Myrtle.

Sloan deflated at the word travel. "Ah. Maybe you mean a paragraph for our Town Round-Up page? Marianne Powell is visiting her sister at Lake Hartwell where they plan on getting lots of sun, eating tomato sandwiches, and waterskiing? That sort of thing?" His face was hopeful.

"Most decidedly not that sort of thing. More like a real travelogue, Sloan. Don't worry, it will be fabulous. I'm going to take pictures, too, so that we can really illustrate what I'm seeing.People love hearing about great trips and this is a great trip. An Alaskan cruise! There will be bears involved."

"Great," said Sloan. Any enthusiasm faked in his voice was not reflected in his glum features.

The land portion of the trip was indeed fabulous. But it was a whirlwind of towns and modes of travel. They were on buses and vans. They saw Fairbanks, Denali (Myrtle was gratified to see a handful of bears gamboling along the mountainsides), and traveled by domed train to Seward to embark on the ship. She brought a sweater with her for when the bus stopped for photo opportunities, but was surprised to find that it wasn't particularly cold outside. The landscape in Denali was especially remarkable—beautiful, but with a barren quality to it. The trees were stunted because of the permafrost and the unforgiving mountainsides looked lovely but vaguely threatening. Myrtle was glad she was there in the summer since she certainly didn't feel Southerners were good at acclimating to Alaskan winters.

Myrtle was standing next to Miles in the long line to be checked in for the cruise ship. Red, Elaine, and Jack were somewhat ahead of them in line, which was a good thing since little Jack's patience with lines was relatively nonexistent. Miles said with a sigh, "I don't think I've ever been so glad to stay in one place in my life."

"Don't be a fussbudget, Miles. You adored Denali. You'd have liked us to have just left you there," said Myrtle.

"Until winter came, perhaps," said Miles. "And then I don't think I'd like it nearly as well. The scenery has been spectacular, particularly when we could see glaciers from the train. But the part where we had to cut off old labels from our luggage and put on new labels and then stick our bags out in the hotel hall at six in the morning wasn't as much fun."

"You know that frequently we're already up at that point in the day," said Myrtle with her eyebrows raised.

"We may be up, but we're not trying to make major decisions," protested Miles.

"Major decisions like what?" asked Myrtle as they inched slowly forward in the line.

"Like what I'm going to wear the next day and what I'm going to carry with me on the bus or train. Or where my snacks are for the daytrip. Or what simply needs to meet me at my next destination," said Miles, growing anxious just thinking about it.

Myrtle made a phish sound and waved her hand. "That's silly. You're remarkably organized all the time."

"Yes, but if I were tired and messed up and didn't cut off the old label, the bags could end up in the town I'd just left instead of the place I was heading to."

Myrtle said, "Then you'd just borrow clothes from Red."

This statement appeared to make Miles most unhappy. It was likely because Red did not travel with pressed khakis and immaculate button-downs.

"Now we're here and can relax. We'll gorge ourselves on buffets of wonderful foods. That's what I'm looking forward to now. I've seen the bears. Now I want to see buffets. Because having to buy our own food on the 'land' portion of the trip was pretty pricey," said Myrtle. Then she snapped her fingers. "I know what I meant to do. I meant to put on one of those bracelet things before I boarded."

"Bracelet things?" asked Miles in a bemused voice.

"That's right," muttered Myrtle as she dug through the outside pocket of her carryon. Got to be here somewhere."

"And you were making fun of my zipper bags," said Miles. His eyes were wide as Myrtle pawed through pill bottles for headaches and heartburn, past a charger for some sort of electronic device, before finally locating a terrycloth wristband.

Miles said, "One of those, I see. An acupressure wristband to keep you from being seasick. Myrtle, those things are really just placebos, you know. Your seasickness is all in your head and this is a magical-thinking band that keeps you from indulging in the illness."

Myrtle raised her eyebrows at him as she slid it on her wrist. "Be that as it may, I'm putting it on. And I grew up on a lake and boating nearly every day."

After Myrtle and Miles and Myrtle's family had boarded the ship, participated in a very dull lifeboat drill that seemed to upset little Jack in an inordinate and vocal way, and sorted their things in their tiny cabins, they met up for supper, where they feasted their eyes on some of the most delicious food they'd ever seen.

Myrtle sighed. "Smoked salmon. Yum."

They were in a large dining room lined with large windows looking out on the sea. Elaine and Jack finished early and went off to explore the ship—and to give Jack a chance to run any excess energy out.

Red, who seemed a lot more relaxed now that they were all on the ship and finished with their drill, said, "I hear that there's salmon available for every meal. There's a chef who just makes omelets in the mornings and you can even ask that chef to put salmon in your omelet." Red was rapidly putting away a large serving of very cheesy lasagna. Although in his mid-forties, Red was looking younger on vacation than he did as police chief at home. The freckles scattered around his features and his grin reminded Myrtle of when he was a boy. Only the gray in his red hair revealed his age.

"I see weight gain in my future," said Myrtle with a smile. "But then, salmon is good for us. It's going to be tough to return home to my own cooking."

Her eyes narrowed at the swift look transpiring between Red and Miles. Myrtle was aware that there seemed to be some sort of inside joke revolving around her cooking, which was completely ridiculous since she knew herself to be a good cook. She ate her own food every day.

Red was always observant, as policemen frequently are. He studied Miles, who was picking at a small salad. "Miles, you've been very quiet. Not that you're usually a loudmouth, by any means. Everything okay?"

Miles took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm fine. Thank you."

Myrtle peered closer at Miles. "You're not fine. You're looking rather green, Miles."

This observation made Miles even greener.

"I've merely lost my sea legs a little," said Miles coldly. "I'll be fine soon, I'm sure."

Myrtle hooted. "You? You said you were an old salt! The water is just like bathwater out there, you know. It's not even choppy at all."

The word choppy made Miles appear even more nauseated. "It's only like bathwater if the bath in question contains a hyperactive Great Dane," he muttered.

Red seemed sympathetic. "Well, whatever is behind it, it's miserable. And even old salts can get seasickness. Fortunately, I think Mama came prepared to treat most of the ship for it. Mama, you should run and get him something."

Myrtle gave Red an indignant look. "I'm eating my supper! I'll be happy to help Miles, but the timing isn't perfect right now. I'll be done in a few minutes."

At that moment, a very sharp-eyed old woman with dyed red hair and clutching a cane leaned over their table very close to Myrtle, which startled her. "What's wrong with him?" she asked perceptively, pointing a bony finger at Miles. "Seasick?"

Miles looked very unhappy that his condition might be obvious to passersby.

"He's got a touch of it, yes," said Myrtle to the old woman, crossly. "I'll give him something for it, but I was going to finish my supper first." She added in an indignant voice to Red, "You could always go to my room and pick it up. I'll give you the key card."

Red raised his eyebrows. "I'd never dream of rifling through your stuff, Mama. I can't figure out your organizational system for packing. I know there's a method to your madness but if I tried searching for something, I'd mess it all up."

The old woman had dropped her large purse on the table with a clunk and was now methodically searching it. Finally, she pulled out a rather tired-looking acupressure wristband. "Here," she barked at Miles, who was looking increasingly unhappy. "Put this on."

Obediently, Miles slid the wristband over his wrist and gave the woman a tight smile.

"You've got it on wrong!" said the old woman, sounding agitated. "Put the white pressure point over your wrist!"

Miles flushed and finally adjusted the band to the old woman's liking. She gave a sniff and then abruptly said, "I'm Celeste."

Realizing she'd segued into an introduction, Red, Miles, and Myrtle introduced themselves.

Miles asked politely, "Are you traveling with anyone?"

"I'm here with my worthless family," said Celeste darkly. "Husband, son, and daughter. And I've also got my niece, who takes care of me, and a friend."

"Large group," said Red. "Is there a special occasion?"

"No special occasion. My family are leeches. Absolute leeches. I planned a trip to Alaska and they had to come along. Worthless," said the old woman, eyes burning.