Myrtle stuck her head out the door to tell Miles.

Red gently said to Eugenia. "Why don't you go back to your room and put your feet up for a few minutes? I'll be there to fill you in shortly."

Eugenia's eyes behind her large glasses looked even more anxious and she started picking at her fingernail polish. "I should let the rest of the family know. Poor Maisy. And Terrell!" She gave a sob and put a bony fist to her mouth as if to contain any others.

Red gave Myrtle a look to indicate that he really did need Eugenia out of the way of a potential crime scene. "My mother will escort you back. And she'll also help track down the family."

Myrtle decided that, all in all, this wasn't a bad chore to be tasked with. After all, it would be helpful to locate the family, since they were all suspects. "It's all right, Eugenia," she said briskly. "You've had a terrible shock. Let's let you rest for a while. Don't worry about trying to round up the family. I'm happy to do that with Miles."

Eugenia obediently allowed herself to be led back to her cabin. As they passed Miles, Myrtle put up an index finger to let him know it would be a minute. When Eugenia walked into her room, she immediately plopped down on the small sofa there and burst into tears.

Myrtle, never comfortable around crying, grabbed some tissues and thrust them at Eugenia. In an effort to distract the woman, and to perhaps also provide some information for herself, Myrtle asked, "Have you seen the family tonight? Anyone? Have any idea where they all might be?"

Eugenia looked at her with wide eyes and then gave another sob. "They couldn't have."

"I'm not saying they did. But I wondered where everyone was," said Myrtle.

Eugenia covered her face and cried even harder. Whether this was in recognition of the fact that someone close to Celeste was most certainly behind any foul play or because she actually did remember something that could prove incriminating, Myrtle couldn't say.

"I'll be back soon," said Myrtle as she left the rather suffocating feel of Eugenia's stateroom. There was nothing like someone crying to make a space feel even smaller than it was.

Miles was waiting for her in the tiny hall. "The front desk is sending some crew out, as well as the ship doctor. I'm assuming they'll approach from the lower deck since they'll need to lower the lifeboat to recover the body." He paused. "I suppose it is a body and not someone in need of medical assistance?"

Myrtle said, "Considering the missing champagne bottle, I'm going to say it's a body. Red would want a doctor to at least pronounce the death, though, I'd imagine. But yes, it should be a body, especially keeping Wanda's dire prediction in mind."

Miles looked weary at the thought of keeping Wanda and her uncanny predictions in mind.

"The entire setup points to murder. Celeste was hit over the head with a champagne bottle and then had her body thrown over the side. She definitely didn't seem to be the suicidal type, as we mentioned before. The killer must have thought he was throwing her into the water," said Myrtle.

"He should have listened for a splash," said Miles dryly. He followed Myrtle as she started walking down the hall. "Where are we heading?"

"Red asked me to help find the family," said Myrtle.

Miles looked uncomfortable. "We'll have to tell them? That's not usually what we have to do."

"Well, it will at least help us know where everyone is. And with the security guy laid out with norovirus or whatever, we're kind of on our own," said Myrtle.

At the mention of norovirus, Miles's gaze darted around for another hand sanitizer station.

The first person they came across was Randolph. As usual, he was passed out in a chair near the piano bar with an empty glass on the floor beside him. Several passengers were gathered around a window behind Randolph, exclaiming as they looked out into the soft nighttime light. "A whale!" said one of them to Myrtle and Miles.

Randolph, however, didn't budge. A low snore emanated from him as he sat, askew, in the armchair.

Miles gently shook his arm. Again, he didn't budge.

Myrtle finally said crossly in her best schoolteacher voice, "Randolph! For heaven's sake!"

This time, his eyes opened immediately. Myrtle thought she saw a spark of recognition and sharpness there and something else before he gave them a bleary look. Was Randolph as intoxicated as he'd appeared?

Miles gave Myrtle the hopeless look of a man resigned to his fate of assisting a drunk man back to his stateroom again. He said to Randolph. "Look, we need to get you back to your room. Can you stand up and walk there yourself?"

Randolph looked at his watch. "It's very early."

"It's midnight!" said Myrtle in exasperation.

"That's what I'm saying," slurred Randolph. "That's early for someone who doesn't sleep."

"You were giving an excellent impression of sleeping a few minutes ago," observed Myrtle. "And, as a fellow insomniac, I can only advise you that you need to at least keep trying to sleep. Spending all night in an armchair won't do you any favors. Besides, you're needed in your cabin."

Randolph carefully stood up by propelling himself upward with both hands on the arms of the chair. He stood, wobbling a bit, before giving Myrtle and Miles a smug look and walking slowly in the direction of his room. "I can't imagine what they need me for," he muttered. "They don't usually need me."

Myrtle and Miles exchanged glances. Randolph did seem to be more lucid than he was the prior night. Actually, this might be as lucid as he got. Miles said cautiously, "It's your wife, Randolph. I'm afraid there's been an accident."

Randolph snorted. "I keep advising her to use her cane at all times. Falling down is hazardous for people her age."

Myrtle decided it might be helpful to have him go on thinking that Celeste had minor injuries. At least for the next couple of minutes. "We noticed that there was a bottle of champagne missing," she said carefully.

Randolph shook his head, a movement that apparently made it hurt because he put a hand up to his forehead. "It's nothing to do with me. I wouldn't touch her champagne. Have my own drinks and champagne gives me headaches anyway. She can't pin that on me. Must have drunk it herself and forgotten about it."

"Was it there earlier this afternoon?" asked Miles.

"Who knows!" scoffed Randolph. "I wasn't there earlier this afternoon. I was playing bridge."

"Or not playing bridge," said Myrtle wryly.

Randolph stopped his slow walking and said with great dignity, "I'm doing a good job walking, but I believe a break might be required. Perhaps in this lounge."

Myrtle sighed. At this rate, it would be breakfast before they found the rest of the family. They sat down in some red and gold upholstered chairs near large windows.

"What have you been doing this evening?" asked Myrtle.

"I'm not so much into the shows," said Randolph with a shrug. "Wasn't interested in the filming. I walked around a lot. Checked out different bars. Obediently viewed whales when it was called for."

Myrtle narrowed her eyes, studying Randolph carefully. "As far as bridge goes, I stepped in for you when you left that game. Too restless to play, were you?"

"Perhaps I'm tired of losing to my wife," said Randolph with a short laugh.

Myrtle said, "I had a very interesting conversation with her. She's a fascinating woman."

Randolph raised his eyebrows doubtfully.

"She told me that she'd changed her will here on the ship," said Myrtle, watching closely for a reaction.

She got one, too. Randolph's eyes opened wide. Whether he was surprised that his wife had changed her will, or surprised that she had told Myrtle about it, she couldn't tell. But he said smoothly, finally, "Of course. Yes. She said she was going to do that. Naturally, I wasn't in favor of it."

"Naturally?" asked Miles.

"I assumed I might be written out of it," said Randolph with a snort. "Celeste and I haven't been seeing eye to eye lately. Well, I'll just have to spend the rest of the trip cajoling her."

Myrtle gave Miles a swift look and he shrugged. Myrtle said gently, "It was more than an accident that Celeste had. I'm afraid she's dead."

"Dead?" Randolph stared blankly at Myrtle as if Celeste couldn't possibly be dead.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly and looked anxiously at Randolph for any sign of tears.

There were no tears forthcoming, however. There was, instead, a brief calculating look before that blankness settled over him again. "Well. I'm sorry to hear that. I suppose, though, when we get older, these things are inevitable. I wish she'd been able to see Glacier Bay tomorrow, however. She was looking forward to that."

Myrtle said, "Oh, but it wasn't a natural death, you see. It wasn't her time to go. Someone murdered her."

"Have any idea who might have wanted to do that?" asked Miles solicitously.

Myrtle noticed that his eyes were lit up as if he were thinking very hard.

Myrtle repeated Miles's question and Randolph grunted. "I suppose plenty of people would," he said finally. "Although you might especially want to talk to Celeste's disgruntled son."

"The elusive Terrell?" asked Myrtle.

"That's right. He's rather antisocial," said Randolph.

"Any ideas where we might be able to find him?" asked Miles.

"Gathering cobwebs up in the library somewhere, I'm guessing," said Randolph, looking sleepy. "Reading the most boring tome in the ship or working crosswords and trying to think of a four-letter word for a French sewing case."

Miles said absently, "Etui."

Myrtle gave him a reproving look and then turned back to ask Randolph more about Terrell. But Randolph appeared to be asleep, his cheek propped up on his hand. She sighed.

By the time they were able to wake Randolph, get him to stand back up, and walked back to their hall, Red was waiting for them.

"Did you take a nap?" he asked in amusement.

"No, we simply found the one who's most difficult to herd," snapped Myrtle. "Don't tell me you zipped around the ship and found the others?"

"The others wended their way back to their respective rooms with the help of the crew," said Red easily. He tilted his head a bit to one side to study Randolph, whose head was also tilted to one side. "Sir?" he asked him.

Randolph nodded and then winced a bit as if it made his head hurt.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. The cruise ship has kindly arranged for you to have another stateroom tonight. Would you like to gather a few things? It's an empty room right down the hall, so not far away," said Red.

Randolph appeared bemused, whether at the mention of any sort of loss or the mention of gathering items one might need overnight, Myrtle wasn't sure. Finally, he muttered, "I don't really need anything tonight. I'll just get some sleep." He paused, looking at Red through narrowed eyes. "You're investigating? What's the ship doing?"

Red said, "Unfortunately, I'm all we've got here in terms of investigators. Ships aren't required to have an onboard police officer, and the security person is unable to investigate."

"Have you told the others?" asked Randolph with some curiosity.

"There is a crew member here who did assist me with that as the family returned to their rooms. And they've offered the services of the ship chaplain."

Randolph grunted. "I'm okay. Is this the crew member who'll get me in the new room?" He followed the person away.

Myrtle asked, "So everyone has been informed?" It irritated her that the process of getting Randolph back to his room had taken so long.

Red walked into Celeste's stateroom and continued sorting through her things, looking for clues. "The daughter and the son have been informed. And you've spoken with the niece and the husband. I'm planning on speaking to all of them tomorrow."

"There's also a friend that Celeste was traveling with. Bettina," said Myrtle.

"Right," said Red. "I forgot to mention her. She did come by the room to ask some questions. I thought she was a shipboard friendship and not a longstanding one. I'll have to include her in the interviews tomorrow."

Myrtle said, "I know you're looking for clues, but I think the biggest one has already been found. By me. The will should help us cement a good motive for Celeste's death. You may not realize, but it wasn't simply lying out on her desk or bed. It was pinned in one of her everyday dresses and I found it."

Red rolled his eyes. "I can tell that we're not going to be able to move forward until I congratulate you on your discovery. Good sleuthing, although I have no idea why you were searching for a will to begin with and I'm not sure I want to know. As of this minute, I want you to stop with the sleuthing, Mama. It's going to get you into trouble—or maybe even killed. There's someone who means business on this ship."

Myrtle was about to respond hotly when Miles interrupted. "Did the crew ... well, what have they done with Celeste's body?"

"And were you able to get any additional information about what might have happened to her?" asked Myrtle.

Red said, "Oh, the ship is outfitted with its own morgue."

Myrtle and Miles just stared at him.

"It's not all that surprising, if you think about it, y'all. It's not for murder victims, it's for natural deaths," said Red. "Think of their clientele."

Myrtle said grudgingly, "I suppose the average passenger age is somewhat ... elevated."

"Exactly. So they have a spot for Celeste and she will be safely there until we return," said Red.

Miles said, "Then the local police will do an autopsy and investigate?"

Red raised a finger. "Ah! Yes, that's what one would think. However, it's not actually the case. If a murder or any suspicious death takes place in international waters, the cruise line is allowed to handle the investigation."

"And how do they do that?" asked Myrtle, hands on her hips.

"Poorly. It's handled by lawyers and generally swept under the rug as much as possible. The cruise line's risk management lawyers take care of it on the shore ... never even setting foot on the ship," said Red.

Miles asked, "And perhaps there's a bit of hush money or a financial settlement of some kind here and there?"

"I'm guessing in some cases, yes. And heaven forbid if a crew member is potentially involved in a death. There's absolutely no follow-up at all there. Why would there be? It's in the ship's best interest to forgive and forget," said Red. "To cover up. Remind me never to get murdered at sea."

Myrtle frowned. "Wait. But you're not saying that a crew member is possibly behind this."

"No, I'm not, because that's pretty unlikely. It's most likely that it's one of Celeste's entourage of family and friends. They had the most to gain, or thought they did," said Red, glancing around the small stateroom at the paper clutter.

Myrtle said, "You're talking about the will. That I found."

"Why do I have the feeling you're going to explain how you knew there was a will in her cabin?" asked Red in a tired voice.

"Celeste was talking about it to me," said Myrtle. "She also mentioned that she thought her life was in danger."

"Well, if she went around telling people she was changing her will and unscrupulous people thought they might get cut out, then of course, her life was in danger," said Red with a sigh. "But all of this can be dealt with tomorrow. The ship has changed the lock on the stateroom and I've got access. It's time to get a bit of sleep and look at it all again tomorrow."

Myrtle said thoughtfully, "I suppose there will be a panic onboard, won't there?"

"A panic?" asked Red in a distracted voice.

"Certainly. Once the passengers realize that there was a murder on the ship, there's bound to be complete pandemonium. Think of it—it's just like one of those country house murders, isn't it? A closed off location with a limited number of suspects?" asked Myrtle.

"Limited?" asked Red dryly. "On the contrary, this ship is so big that it's got a higher population than our hometown. There are roughly five thousand people onboard."

"Whatever. You know what I mean," said Myrtle.

"I do and no. There will be no panic or pandemonium. That's because no one is going to tell anyone about the murder. The family wants it under wraps and so does the ship. I was specifically asked not to say anything about it," said Red pointedly. "And you shouldn't mention it either."

Miles cleared his throat. "Did they find out what happened?"

"To Celeste? Well, it was just the ship doctor, a Dr. Powers, that I talked to, but when I briefly observed her body during recovery—definitely blunt force trauma with a heavy object. The killer must have supposed he was getting rid of the evidence by chucking everything over the side. But there was a handy lifeboat jutting out a bit," said Red.

Miles nodded. "That's good to know, of course. I meant though, if you knew what happened to the security man."

Red stared blankly at Miles and a smile started playing around Myrtle's lips at Miles's germphobia.

Miles continued, "You know—was it norovirus? Or just food poisoning? Because if it were food poisoning, it's not contagious. Norovirus, on the other hand?" Miles shuddered.

Red's eyes twinkled and he said, "I'm not sure, and I don't even know if there's a really good way for the ship to diagnose it. But I do know he and his germs are in quarantine for seventy-two hours after he's symptom-free, so you should be in good shape." He gave a tremendous yawn, which had the domino effect of making Myrtle and Miles yawn, too. He stood up and pointedly looked at the door to the hall.

Myrtle and Miles obediently stood up and walked out. Red said sternly to his mother, "Now, Mama, I have no doubt this episode has tweaked your interest. But remember—you're on vacation. You shouldn't have an opportunity in the world to be bored enough to try to poke around in this case. The only reason I'm doing it is from a sense of obligation to my occupation—and a real dislike of hearing that lawyers would be handling the investigation. You just sit back and enjoy Glacier Bay, all right?"