Miles was glum as he took the last bite of his chocolate gateau. "Do I really have to have a drink with Bettina, Myrtle? She may get the wrong impression."

"She will not get the wrong impression. I won't allow it. I'm going to have a drink with you and ask questions. There will be nothing in the least that could be considered romantic about any of it."

Miles glanced at Myrtle's plate. "Didn't you like your dessert?"

"It baffled me. I don't like it when my food is confusing. It didn't seem to want to be eaten," said Myrtle. "I cut one with my knife and fork, but the reward didn't seem worth the labor. That will teach me to order anything with a French name. I need to eat desserts with names like cheesecake or pudding."

Miles pushed his plate away and then stood, courteously holding Myrtle's chair as she rose. "Speaking of pudding, I wonder how things are going at home. With Dusty and Puddin."

Myrtle made a face. "How do you think they're going? When the cat's away, the mice will play. I've a feeling that Puddin is sitting in my den, fending off Pasha, eating the remains of my food, and watching Tomorrow's Promise."

"Dusty is more industrious, though," said Miles.

"Is he? Give him half a chance to be lazy and he'll jump on it like fleas on a hound dog," said Myrtle. "They're probably letting everything in the house and yard go until right before we get back. Then they'll scramble like crazy to have it look good. We'll have to bring our neighbors little gifts to make it up to them when we return."

Miles, who liked everything done in a particular way, looked uncomfortable at the thought of his yard resembling a South East Asian jungle. Or perhaps he was still wrestling with the fact that he was about to have a drink with a woman for the first time in a while.

Myrtle had to give Bettina credit. She'd thought of everything. She was sitting at a small table in the piano bar where the lighting was excellent. Her dress played up her figure and she was expertly made up. The pianist was playing As Time Goes By from Casablanca. And there were only two chairs at the little table. At least, there were only two chairs until Miles quickly pulled another out for Myrtle.

Bettina smiled toothily at Miles and then gave Myrtle a clear back-off look, which Myrtle blithely ignored. "Hi there, Bettina," she said beaming. "What a treat to hang out with you a little while. Don't we all look amazing? We should dress for supper every night."

Bettina continued shooting daggers with her eyes at Myrtle. "Yes. Miles, you look very handsome, as usual," she crooned.

Miles looked miserable and stayed as close to Myrtle as he possibly could. A waiter hovered for drink orders and Myrtle ordered a Shirley Temple. Miles waved the waiter away.

"Unfortunately," said Bettina, "this is a table for two." She was as pointed as she could be.

"Very true. We should move to a larger table," said Myrtle.

Miles, who just wanted to get the whole thing over with, said quickly, "This is fine for the short time we'll be here. As I mentioned, I do want something of an early night."

This statement appeared to make Bettina deeply unhappy as the waiter brought Myrtle her drink.

Miles gave Myrtle a small kick under the table to prompt her to get on with it. Myrtle supposed that the pleasantries could be dispensed with since she'd already spent the morning with Bettina on the trolley. She raised her glass with its non-alcoholic beverage. "A toast! To new beginnings!"

Miles gave her an incredulous look and rested his head in his hand. Bettina raised her glass and smiled at Myrtle for the first time.

Myrtle said, "Because new beginnings are important, aren't they? I couldn't help but notice how happy Terrell was today. He's got a new lady friend named Donnice."

Bettina snorted. "Which is completely amazing. He's not exactly the sort to make new relationships happen."

"Well, this one seems to be off to a good start, although he does have old habits that get in his way, I suppose. He was apparently attending some sort of very dry lecture last night instead of partying on board," said Myrtle.

Bettina raised her eyebrows. "Maybe he did attend the lecture, but it certainly wasn't for very long. I saw him quietly escaping from the room where it was being held. In fact, he made some sort of comment about the content of the lecture being interesting, but the delivery being dull. I was on my way out to the disco room and told him he should give dancing a go. Not that he listened to me. Maybe that's when he met up with his new friend." She grinned at Miles. "You should try the disco room, too. You'd be surprised how much fun it is."

Miles cleared his throat. "You're right. I would be surprised." He gave Myrtle another desperate, light kick under the table.

"So Terrell wasn't really occupied for very long at the lecture," mused Myrtle.

Bettina said, "Exactly. So who knows? He could have found the time to follow Eugenia and knock her off. I guess the poor child could have seen something incriminating, I don't know."

Myrtle said, "You don't seem to have a problem pointing the finger at Terrell."

"Not at all. He has never been the warmest member of the family, although now I guess he's got a second chance at life. I did enjoy Celeste and found her a lot of fun to be with, but she could be very hard on her family. She was definitely hard on Terrell. Celeste always had preconceived notions about what his life should be like. She wanted him to be a doctor, a well-respected member of the community, with a nice house and yard and a nice wife. I don't think Celeste ever asked what he wanted," said Bettina.

Miles said, "To be fair to Celeste though, wasn't it Terrell's job to protest? Isn't that what adolescence is all about? Rebellion?"

"Terrell never really had an adolescence; not in the true sense of the word. He was too busy in science camps and in camps for the gifted and all the special opportunities that Celeste put together for him. Maybe he's making up for lost time now," said Bettina. Myrtle noticed that Bettina nearly imperceptibly moved her chair closer to Miles as he glanced out the window when several other passengers excitedly reported a whale.

Myrtle said, "I've been hearing that Eugenia had a crush on Terrell. Had you seen any evidence of that?"

Bettina considered this. "I don't know. I wouldn't have said so. Eugenia acted nervous around all the members of the family. Maybe someone misunderstood what emotion she was demonstrating and thought she was interested in Terrell. But as far as I could tell, Eugenia was just shy around him and tried to avoid him as much as she avoided the rest of the family. Besides, she's a close relative."

Myrtle asked, "When was the last time you saw anyone the night Eugenia was killed?"

Bettina said promptly, "It was probably eleven o'clock and I saw Terrell out." She held out her hands. "It seems obvious enough, doesn't it? Eugenia knew something and whatever she knew it made Terrell anxious enough to murder her." She slid even closer to Miles.

Miles quickly said, "Unfortunately, I'm fighting off a terrible headache." He gave Myrtle a hard look.

Myrtle said, "One of your migraines is it? Then you should definitely turn in. Sorry, Bettina, it looks as if we're no fun at all."

Bettina made a face. "You're certainly not. What's more, all you can talk about is murder. Miles, I look forward to finding out more about your engineering background and education tomorrow. Maybe we can even discuss books."

As Myrtle and Miles walked away from the piano lounge, Miles murmured, "Book club with Bettina. How thrilling. The book she chooses will likely be How to Marry a Millionaire."

"At least she reads. Or says she does," said Myrtle. "Although I do think it's peculiar how everyone wants to discuss books with us. What did you think about everything we've heard so far? Got any gut reactions?"

"My gut reaction is that I should take off at a trot every time I spot Bettina," muttered Miles.

"Besides that. It sounded as if everyone was running around the ship late last night and had every opportunity to kill poor Eugenia," said Myrtle.

"Isn't it funny how everyone says poor Eugenia?" mused Miles. "She wasn't actually poor at all, was she?"

"Not by the end of her saga, no. Except for the fact that everyone was contemplating murdering her. So, let's see. After polling Maisy and Bettina, they were both pointing fingers at Randolph and Terrell," said Myrtle.

Miles said, "I think Maisy is protecting her brother. At first she might have been pointing the finger at him, but now it sounds as if she's reconsidered and is forming an alliance. She's probably trying to remain on his good side since he seems to be the brains of the family. He can help them wade through the probate process with the will, and may even lend her money from time to time. I didn't get the impression that Maisy is actually employed."

Myrtle said thoughtfully, "You're right. I've never heard any mention of a job for Maisy. Hm. And she's not married or a mother, so what did she do with her time? Hang out with her mother? No wonder she had hard feelings toward her—I'd think spending tons of time with anyone could make you sick of them. Okay, so Maisy was trying to direct us to Randolph. Then we had Bettina trying to explain why Terrell was such an excellent candidate for the murderer."

"Why do you think Terrell lied to us about the lecture?" asked Miles. "Did he intend his presence there to work as his alibi? We could easily have checked and asked the instructor if Terrell left early, though."

"Yes, but you have to think like these suspects. We're not the police. Well, Red is the police, but he really doesn't have any jurisdiction here. How likely are you and I to check out alibis? And really, Terrell is the only one who's even tried to provide one ... everyone else is wandering around the ship or turning in early or whatever. But back to your original question. Why did Terrell say he was at the lecture? I'm thinking that it's just another opportunity for him to brag about something. Think about how he bragged about Eugenia's horrified face when she saw him with Donnice after the lecture. Eugenia was very likely dead then and he didn't see her at all. He's very fond of making himself look smarter or more interesting than he is. It's probably how he survived med school," said Myrtle.

"I wonder if he'd make it through med school these days," said Miles. "It's a lot more competitive to get in, I hear. And he was at the lecture. It simply must have been a lot more tedious than he thought."

"Which is totally ridiculous since the topic was on civil service. How anyone could have possibly thought that subject was going to be riveting, I'm not sure. So, he slipped out, and the next thing we know he was seen by Bettina. Then he was with his friend Donnice," recited Myrtle.

Miles said, "Yes. But since Red doesn't have a very accurate time of death for Eugenia, the killer could still be Terrell. He could have left Donnice, spotted Eugenia by herself, and quickly taken the opportunity to get rid of her."

"Or maybe he could have left the lecture, been seen by Bettina, murdered Eugenia, and then have seen Donnice and joined her. I guess Eugenia either was falling asleep in that whirlpool or hot tub or whatever it's called, or the killer was very quiet," said Myrtle with a frown. "I'm not totally understanding how she didn't hear someone approaching her."

"The water is fairly loud in those hot tubs with the jets going," explained Miles. "It makes a sort of white noise. I don't think anyone would hear someone else approaching. If the murderer came up behind her, they could easily have surprised her."

Myrtle raised her eyebrows. "It sounds as if you've been visiting the hot tubs. I'm sure our friend Bettina would love to join you on your next expedition."

Miles colored. "And I'd be most grateful if you'd help me avoid that woman. There's nothing like being pursued. I don't think my modest lifestyle and quiet existence is what Bettina is looking for."

"Probably not. I'll have to play up how boring you are and perhaps she'll lose interest. Pity she's a fan of our soap opera or I'd play up that angle and nearly anyone would lose interest in you. Speaking of Bettina, though, what do you think of the whole revenge thing? For Celeste's murder, I mean," said Myrtle.

"It sounds like a plausible motive for murder to me," said Miles. "Particularly since we've seen for ourselves how single-minded Bettina can be when it comes to a romantic interest." His flush deepened a bit. "I'm thinking that she'd found a good prospect and Celeste was jealous and decided to break things up."

Myrtle nodded. "That must have infuriated her. Everything was going along fine and dandy and Bettina was seeing a secure future and the next thing she knew, Celeste messed everything up. Or, rather, the man broke things off and Bettina was at first baffled ... until she found out while on this cruise that Celeste was behind it all. Of course, she would have wanted to strike back at Celeste."

"Exactly. But how did she strike back at her? Did she just pull a silly prank with ink? Or did she also plan on killing her friend ... and then she had to kill Eugenia because of what she saw?" asked Miles.

"I'm not sure. And I'm not really sure about Maisy, either. I do have some sympathy for Maisy—she had no life whatsoever. Her mother controlled everything, even down to her clothing. She wasn't even allowed to be an adult at all. Unfortunately for Maisy, she decided to finally rebel and spread her wings while on a cruise—a cruise where her mother ends up murdered. And we were all party to seeing her rebellion. It makes her a very obvious suspect," said Myrtle.

Miles said, "I'm not sure that Maisy would have been able to carefully execute a murder in advance. But Celeste's murder could have easily been something that took place spontaneously, after all."

"An impulsive murder would be a better fit for Maisy, for sure. Maybe Celeste summoned her to her cabin for some petty reason or other. Probably to yell at Maisy for some shortcoming or other. They could have argued. That champagne bottle was right there and it was incredibly heavy ... heavy enough to kill someone," said Myrtle.

Miles said, "The amazing part of the whole scenario is that Maisy wouldn't have freaked completely out after killing her mother. I can easily see her screaming bloody murder and running out of her mother's room with mascara streaming down her cheeks."

"Hmm. I can picture that, too. But maybe she's slightly more even-tempered than we realize. Or perhaps she didn't just lift the bottle with absolutely no malice aforethought. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing when she picked it up. Then she might have felt very calm. And, if we think about it, our murderer would need to be someone who could remain calm. Eugenia's death was opportunistic from the aspect that no one knew she was going to be in the hot tub, but it still required the killer to think through the crime," said Myrtle.

Miles said, "And then we have Randolph." He shook his head. "Honestly, Randolph seems so completely incompetent to me that I have a hard time visualizing him being able to pull off two murders without being caught."

"You've always had something of a mental block against suspecting him. But think about it—he had plenty of motive to commit these crimes. We're hearing now that he's a gambler. Celeste and Randolph met each other in Las Vegas. Regardless, it doesn't seem as if he's very responsible when it comes to money. We've both seen him drink his money away. What if he is a serious gambler and he's in major debt? Murder sure would seem attractive as a quick way of solving that problem. As far as the drinking goes, we keep hearing that maybe he's faking some of the intoxication that we're seeing and is using it as a smokescreen. He could be completely lucid and just trying to use his drinking as a sort of weird alibi ... that he isn't capable of murder because he's so incapacitated by alcohol."

Miles said wryly, "Well, he certainly drinks enough to be practically immune to the stuff. I'd be falling under the table if I drank a quarter of what he does. So it sounds as if we need to follow up with him on the gambling and so forth."

"Exactly. He needs to be the next person we speak with. I wonder if he even participated in the formal night?" asked Myrtle.

"If he did, he's probably not going to spend it in the restaurant. He's most likely at one of the bars," said Miles. "As usual."

Myrtle squinted as they walked slowly up to an area with a couple of chairs and a small sofa. "Isn't that Randolph? That dissolute figure slumped in his chair?"

"It sure is. If he's not intoxicated, then he must sleep an awful lot," said Miles.

"But he doesn't really sleep, remember? He's an insomniac like we are. The only difference is that he takes lots of naps during the day."

"And night," observed Miles. "Should we talk to him now? Will he even make a lot of sense if we talk to him now?"

"I think he always makes sense. And we'll at least have the opportunity to catch him off-guard, which will be more challenging when he's sober. Let's try it," said Myrtle.