Myrtle glanced at her own watch as Terrell hurried away. "How much getting ready is he going to do? Supper is hours away."

"Well, clearly he wants to put his best foot forward," said Miles. "It's really sort of sweet in a way. He's so flustered over it and is obviously no dating expert."

Myrtle nodded and finished her Dubonnet. "It does look as if he's finally coming out of his shell now that the commanding and controlling presence of his mother is gone. Which really does make me wonder if he had been desperate to get rid of her and finally start his life."

"And I suppose, if he did kill her, having the extra money from her estate would have helped him in his quest to start over," said Miles. "Although, as a doctor, he was certainly rich enough."

Myrtle shrugged. "It's the difference between being very comfortable and being wealthy."

"I don't know. I think rich is rich."

Myrtle said, "It's the difference between a mountain house with a river view and a house on the beach."

"I guess you're right."

Myrtle said, "On a different topic, since we've now established that supper is hours away, what are your plans for the interval?"

"I was going to try out the yoga class. It's supposed to be wonderful for joint pain and I've had a little of that in the last day," said Miles.

Myrtle said with a smirk, "You should relax in the hot tub for a while then."

"No thanks," said Miles. "Do you want to try out the class with me?"

"I'll pass. I didn't bring exercise clothes, and besides, yoga is not really my thing. Doing dog-in-the-manger and deer-in-the-headlights and all those sorts of poses," said Myrtle.

Miles said coldly, "I'm guessing you're referring to upward facing dog and the deer pose."

A voice behind them said cheerfully, "Yoga? Are you going too, Miles?"

It was Elaine. She was in high spirits, which likely meant the dawn of a new hobby for her. Red was holding Jack's hand and was right behind her.

Miles said, "I'm going, but Myrtle is pooh-poohing it."

"I'm not really pooh-poohing it. I've nothing against yoga, but I'm certainly not wearing regular clothes to the class. You're going, Elaine? And how was your pottery class?" asked Myrtle.

Elaine beamed at her, "I'm going to yoga. And the pottery class was fantastic! It's really inspired me, too. Oh, I've dabbled in pottery before, but I don't think I had very good instruction. Now I feel equipped to go back to Bradley and start making pots again!"

Red, behind her, rolled his eyes and gave his mother a long-suffering look. Elaine hadn't hit on the perfect hobby yet but appeared determined to keep searching for it. In some ways, it was inspiring. In others, it was a bit dispiriting.

"Tomorrow, I'm heading back to the class to paint the pots I made," said Elaine. "It's our at-sea day, so it's perfect—no excursions to go on."

Red said, "Do you know when that is, Elaine? I wanted to attend the memorial service that the chaplain is putting together tomorrow morning for Eugenia."

"The pottery painting is late-afternoon, so that's perfect," said Elaine.

It occurred to Myrtle that the dinner that night was the ship's formal night. "Do you need me to watch Jack tonight for you so you can dress up and go to one of the nicer restaurants?"

Red made a face. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'd rather skip dressing up and go to the buffet."

"Thanks, though," said Elaine. "Although now I think I'd better head out and get ready for yoga."

"Me, too," said Miles, standing up. "And I'm sure to end yoga feeling extremely relaxed for dinner."

"Especially since you've already had a drink before yoga," observed Myrtle.

Miles was wearing a dark suit when he knocked on her door later for supper. He did not even look particularly dressy to Myrtle since he always looked dressed up. On the other hand, she felt very dressed up in black slacks and a silver top. Myrtle almost felt as if she should be receiving tea with the queen.

When they were seated in the main restaurant, Miles and Myrtle looked around them. People had taken the directive to wear formal clothes in very different ways. Some were wearing blue jeans and nice tops. Some were wearing evening gowns.

And then there was Maisy. Myrtle poked Miles and gestured across the room. "Look who's coming in."

"And look what she's wearing," said Miles.

"I suppose when the cat's away, the mice will play," said Myrtle. "Her mother certainly wouldn't have wanted Maisy to wear a low-cut, strapless cocktail dress with a tiered skirt that's only thigh-length. She looks like a refugee from the 1980s."

Miles said, "I think in some ways it's rather brave that she would have packed like she did when her mother was alive and well. She didn't know her mother was going to die, after all."

"Didn't she? I haven't completely eliminated her as a suspect yet, Miles. I haven't eliminated any of them, actually." Myrtle observed Maisy more closely. "The dress isn't awful; it's just awful on Maisy. There comes a point where dressing younger than you are makes you look a good deal older. I think Maisy has reached that point."

"She appears to be looking for a place to sit," said Miles. He stood up, caught Maisy's eye, and motioned her to join them.

"How gallant of you, Miles," murmured Myrtle.

Miles said, "She reminded me of high school days when kids would be desperately looking for someone to sit with in a sea of unfriendly faces."

"And how clever of you to find a way to subject her to our relentless questioning," said Myrtle.

"Honestly, I think she's simply relieved to have someone to eat with. Otherwise she'd be heading back to her room to change and eat at the buffet."

Maisy indeed appeared relieved when Miles pulled out a chair for her. "Thanks so much. My date is feeling under the weather and I'm on my own. Who knows where the rest of my party is?" Her tone suggested that she didn't really care.

Relieved or not, there was also something a wee bit guarded about Maisy that night. Myrtle decided to wait until a couple of drinks had been drunk and they'd all had a chance to enjoy the four-course meal.

Maisy was looking far more relaxed by the time desserts were arriving at their table. After Maisy had taken the first bite of her chocolate cheesecake, Myrtle said innocently, "Are you planning on going to Eugenia's service tomorrow?"

Maisy made a bit of a face but didn't try to avoid answering the question. "I suppose I should. Mother would have wanted me to, I know. Did we ever hear what time it was to be? Ridiculously early, I guess?"

"I don't think it's going to be very early. Probably something like eleven o'clock. I don't think we've heard the exact time yet," said Myrtle. She had a couple of vanilla petit fours on her plate that she wasn't completely sure how to approach. Pick it up? Use a knife? Attempt to put the entire thing in her mouth? They were almost too pretty to eat with their pink and white edible flowers on top.

Maisy gave Myrtle a reproving look. "That's very early. But I'll go, of course. I didn't really have anything against Eugenia." Her expression told a different story, however.

"Miles and I were trying to figure out the last time we saw Eugenia since my son was hoping to establish time of death. It's tricky in a hot tub, you know," said Myrtle. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"Oh, I don't know. I wasn't trying to keep an eye on her, you know. I've been trying to take advantage of my time on the cruise," said Maisy, delving into her cheesecake with gusto.

Miles gave Myrtle a wry look that said Maisy was succeeding.

Myrtle persisted, though. "What did you do that evening? When we were in Juneau?"

"I turned in early. Lots of late nights will catch up with me after a while," said Maisy.

Myrtle stifled a sigh. Trust Maisy to get short-winded now when they were asking questions. She certainly had plenty to say earlier in the meal when she was talking on and on about her privileged childhood and how she'd had a pony named Prince.

"So you have no idea who might have killed Eugenia?" asked Myrtle. "Because it was a very violent death, you know. Was there anyone who you think could be capable of that? And why would they have done it? She seemed like a sweet, harmless little thing."

Here Maisy's eyes flashed with a show of temper. "She might have seemed that way, yes. She seemed that way to Mother. Mother thought that Eugenia was a much better-behaved person than I was. I thought Eugenia just had much less personality than I did. She was more bland."

Myrtle tried to tease more of an answer out of her. "More bland. That makes a lot of sense. I'll admit that I didn't get much of a sense of a personality from Eugenia. But who would have wanted to murder her? Such an insipid person wouldn't have inspired violence from many people."

Maisy took the last bit of her cheesecake and pushed the plate away from her. She said, "I still think Randolph might have done it. He always thought that he was going to be Mother's heir. He could have murdered Mother and then murdered Eugenia—she probably saw something and he had to get her out of the way. Besides, I saw him out really late that night that Eugenia died. I'm like Terrell—I'm not sure that Randolph is always as intoxicated as he makes out."

Myrtle said smoothly, "You saw Randolph out really late? But you just said that you turned in early that night."

Maisy had the grace to blush. "I did. But ... well . . . I left my purse at dinner by accident. I didn't realize until I was back in my room and in the bed. You know how sometimes your mind replays the day and you remember things?"

Maisy seemed to be groping for an explanation. It didn't sound all that plausible to Myrtle. If she'd remembered the purse right after she turned in and she turned in 'very early,' then how did she see Randolph out 'very late?'

They were momentarily interrupted by a silky voice. "Hi there, Miles," purred Bettina, wearing an off-the-shoulder black gown. "I was looking for you. Can we meet up for a drink after dinner? I wanted to find out all about your life as an architect. I'm always so interested in hearing about professions like yours. I was an interior designer and I think the two jobs go hand in hand, don't you?"

Miles shot Myrtle a furious look at the mention of the word architect. "As a matter of fact, I was an engineer, not an architect."

"Even better," said Bettina smoothly. "I do love hearing about things being built."

A red flush was creeping slowly up Miles's neck as Maisy and Myrtle looked on in interest. "I was thinking about ... erm ... having an early night."

Here Myrtle kicked Miles sharply under the table, making him grunt. She wanted to horn in on their drink, although she wasn't going to let Bettina know that. Miles had fortunately been her friend long enough to be able to correctly interpret her kick. "But," he amended reluctantly, "I'm happy to have a drink with you before I do."

"Excellent!" said Bettina with a toothy grin. "Let's meet in the piano bar at eight then?" And she sailed off with Miles looking at her unhappily as she went.

Myrtle tried to pick back up on their thread of conversation. "Let's see. What were we saying? Oh, that's right, I remember. What was Randolph doing when you spotted him?" "Looking sneaky. Furtive. Like he was up to something," said Maisy, decidedly.

Miles said, "Could he have been doing anything else? Surely he wouldn't be obviously furtive if he were planning to kill Eugenia?"

Maisy gave him an impatient look. "How should I know? I guess he could have been heading to the ship casino. He's a gambler, did you know that?"

This came as news to Myrtle and Miles. Myrtle said, "No. Every time we saw him, he was half-asleep in a chair with a drink."

"Well, anytime he's not passed out, he's probably in the casino. Habitual gambler. In fact, he was really racking up debts before we went on vacation. Mother was always yelling at him. In many ways, it was a relief, since it meant that she wasn't yelling at me," said Maisy.

Myrtle said slowly, "So if he had a lot of gambling debts, it could have meant that he owed money to people who would put a good deal of pressure on him to pay them back."

"Sure. There's your motive right there. Money. He never took Mother seriously when she threatened to write him or any of us out of her will and that was a huge mistake on his part. He should never have underestimated her. He probably got desperate for cash and decided to hurry things along. Then he would have needed to get rid of poor Eugenia since she stood between him and his money." Maisy finished off her drink. She gave a searching gaze across the restaurant as if looking for better prospects to sit with.

Myrtle had finally used a knife and fork to cut into the petit fours. She swallowed it down and said, "Have you noticed Eugenia having some sort of a crush on Terrell?"

Maisy snorted. "Absolutely not. That little mouse? More likely she was trying to avoid my brother. Who told you that—Terrell? He's got a huge imagination for someone who can be so dull. I had to give him a hard time yesterday, but seriously. He was going to sit in a library and do crosswords when he finally had the chance to get out from under his mother's thumb? I thought he was being foolish. And maybe he listened to me for once because I saw him with a girl later on."

"He does seem to be having a shipboard romance," said Myrtle. "And you're sure about Eugenia?"

"Eugenia wouldn't have dared to try to have a relationship with Terrell. That was one reason why she was never getting anywhere in life—she never took risks. Never tried to be better than she was. Now me, on the other hand, I'm trying to take advantage of this tragedy and make the best of it. Maybe that sounds awful, but surely it's the healthiest thing to do. I was stifled for years by Mother and now I have a chance to spread my wings a little. I'm taking it," said Maisy. She stood up and looked at Miles. "You should do the same—with Bettina. See you both later."