"She doesn't sound particularly heartbroken, does she?" mused Myrtle.

"She's a very matter-of-fact person," said Miles. "And rather a flirtatious one, too." He carefully poured the remainder of his coffee cup's contents over the side of the ship.

"Miles! Ditching your coffee after all your nursing of it?" asked Myrtle incredulously.

"Now it's too cold to drink," said Miles. "Which is understandable, considering your lips are turning a very distinct color of blue. And I doubt that's the shade of your lipstick."

"All right, all right, we're heading back inside. But, really, Miles. You sound like Goldilocks with all this 'too hot and too cold' nonsense."

They walked back into the ship and to their saved spots. A couple of passengers who were standing around and trying to peer out the windows gave them baleful looks for the reserved seats.

"Our popularity soars," murmured Miles.

"They're just jealous! Let them get up at dawn and save seats if they want the best view," said Myrtle.

"Is there even a dawn when it's light all night?" asked Miles.

Before Myrtle could respond with her thoughts on the issue, she noticed that a birdlike woman with bright blue eyes was approaching them with great determination. "Do you know this woman, Miles?" she muttered.

"No. Should I?" asked Miles.

"She sure seems to know us," said Myrtle. "And I have a bad feeling about it. I somehow sense Red's interference."

"You're being silly. She's probably going to ask us where the restrooms are or something," said Miles. "You always seem to suspect poor Red."

"For good reason," said Myrtle with a sniff.

The small woman said in a triumphant voice, "You must be Myrtle Clover!"

"My fame precedes me, I see," said Myrtle dryly. "Or have we met?"

"Your son described you to me in such vivid detail that I knew you on the spot," said the woman.

Myrtle shot Miles a look and he shrugged.

"I won't ask what adjectives Red used to describe me," drawled Myrtle. "You needed to find me for some reason?"

"Yes. Your son says that you're quite the experienced reader. And a teacher, I believe, right?" asked the woman. "I'm Violet, by the way."

"I suppose once a teacher, always a teacher," said Myrtle with a sigh. "Is there something that you needed taught? I'm on vacation, you see."

Violet gave a tinkling laugh. "Oh no, nothing like that. It's only that I'd find your insights interesting. You see, I've formed a small book club and Red said that you'd be a wonderful candidate for it."

Myrtle gritted her teeth. Red's attempts to control her were bad enough on dry land. To do it on the high seas while she was on vacation was insufferable.

Miles eyed Myrtle warily in case she exploded.

Myrtle took a deep, steadying breath. "Very thoughtful of him. But there are so many activities that I can't imagine possibly fitting a book club in."

Miles added, "Besides, I've taken a look at the ship library. They may have more than one copy of a title, but no more than that."

"You must be Miles," said the woman with a smile. "Red described you, too."

Miles looked a bit anxious upon hearing this. He'd be fretting, wondering how Red described him.

"But to answer your question, this is a book club like no other. It's quite extraordinary," said Violet.

"Meaning you're discussing real literary works?" asked Miles hopefully. He was always up for a good discussion on Alexandre Dumas or Dostoyevsky. It was just so rare that he could find a willing partner to engage in this activity.

Myrtle tilted her head skeptically. Violet didn't look like a scholar.

Again Violet gave her tinkling laugh. "Heavens, no! As you stated Myrtle, we're on vacation. So our group is going to discuss our favorite fun books of all time. It will be a roundtable discussion. We'll be meeting each day at lunch near the buffet—at noon, exactly. I'll be the timekeeper and ensure we don't run a hair over our allotted time of twenty minutes."

Myrtle said, "Fun books."

"That's right. So you and Miles join us and be sure to bring a pen and paper so that you can list all the wonderful books that the book club members recommend. It will be stimulating!"

Violet disappeared as quickly as she'd arrived.

Miles said, "I guess Red is trying to fill up your time so you won't be able to do any investigating."

"That Red! As if he can stop me. Fun books. The very idea!" said Myrtle indignantly.

"What's your idea of a fun book?" asked Miles curiously.

"A collection of short stories by Eudora Welty. What about you?"

Miles said thoughtfully, "Maybe a classic adventure story? On the Road by Jack Kerouac? Something like that?"

"You and I would be banned from their book club," said Myrtle decidedly. "I have a feeling their discussion will be populated by celebrity memoirs."

They resumed their viewing of Glacier Bay for a good ten to fifteen minutes. The glaciers were icily gorgeous. "We're definitely not in Bradley anymore," said Miles. "So who is next on our interviewing list? Celeste's partying daughter? Her long-suffering, angelic niece? Or do we have another go at her no-good husband since he was hardly coherent when we last spoke with him?"

"I'd rather speak with Eugenia first. But if we spot the elusive Maisy, I guess we could grab the opportunity. Eugenia is fresh in my mind since Bettina was going on about her so much," said Myrtle.

"Eugenia, from what I gather, doesn't seem like the kind to be out and about much," said Miles doubtfully.

"Maybe that was true. But now Eugenia is free of Celeste. And, from what we can tell, she's quite the heiress. Who knows ... maybe her behavior will change?" Myrtle shrugged.

But they didn't see Eugenia. Not at lunch or in any of the observation lounges they visited.

Myrtle and Miles were leaving dinner from the main dining room, feeling stuffed and sleepy as usual, when they heard a raucous laughing. A loud voice said, "No, really. Drinks are on me! I've got reason to celebrate!"

The woman and her companion, a tall man with long hair pulled back in a ponytail, came into view. Her hair was dyed a platinum blonde and she wore a low-cut top, a lot of makeup, and was tottering around on very high heels.

The man with the ponytail sounded amused. "Are you sure about that? You just lost your mother. That's hardly reason for a party."

"You didn't know my mother," said the woman, with a shrug. "I'm going to have a seat. Can you round up a waiter or a wine steward or someone and order us some vodka tonics? I'll be right here to sign the check to bill it to my room."

Myrtle whispered, "We've sighted our Maisy. Come on."

"Another intoxicated suspect?" murmured Miles with a resigned sigh.

"I don't think she is, no. She's just in high spirits. And I want to find out why," said Myrtle, stepping carefully and leaning on her cane as the ship rolled a bit. Miles fingered the acupressure band on his wrist.

"Excuse me," said Myrtle in her best trembling old lady voice, "are you Maisy, dear?"

Myrtle sat down next to Maisy on the small settee that was against the wall of the hall leading to the dining room.

Maisy gave her an ambivalent look out of eyes heavily encrusted with dark eyeshadow, and regarded Miles similarly. "I am. Sorry, do I know you?"

"I'm Myrtle Clover and this is my friend Miles Bradford. We'd become acquainted with your mother during this cruise."

Maisy gave a short, snorting laugh. "I'm so very sorry to hear that. My condolences."

Myrtle said coolly, "Interesting. I was just about to say the same to you. Offer my condolences, I mean. I was sorry to learn of your mother's death. Celeste was a very interesting woman."

"That's one way of putting it. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but believe me, I'm doing just fine," said Maisy.

Miles said delicately, "You and your mother weren't particularly close?"

"Close? Well, if you're talking about physically close, then yes, we were close. Close enough for me to feel completely suffocated by her. Were we emotionally close? No." Maisy fished out one of the ice cubes from her empty glass and put it in her mouth. She started emphatically crunching the ice, a sound which made Miles wince.

Myrtle said, "Celeste was ... controlling, then?"

"She was a control freak, that's what she was. She didn't stop at 'controlling.' She wanted to be the puppeteer and manipulate everyone to do what she wanted them to do. And now she's gone. I can't pretend to be sad about that. I'm doing all the things that I always wanted to do. Dancing, drinking, having the time of my life. Mother and I were already arguing before she died. That's because I'd already decided that, for this cruise anyway, I was going to have fun. She hated seeing me enjoy myself. She hated the clothes I bought for this trip and the makeup I was wearing. And she didn't like that I started seeing one of the passengers."

Myrtle nodded. "Miles and I were actually dispatched to help find the family when your mother's death was discovered. I'm guessing, from what you've been saying, that you were out and about on the ship during that time?"

Maisy's mouth pursed in a cupid's smile. "Oh, so you're one of the helpful team of amateurs who has taken it upon themselves to investigate, is that right?"

Myrtle bristled a bit at amateurs. "A gifted amateur, with some past experience in investigations of this sort. Miles is experienced, too."

Miles, unfortunately, took that opportunity to drop the rolls he had taken from the dining room on the floor. Myrtle sighed and Maisy appeared to be suppressing a grin.

"At any rate, my son, who is a police chief, is certainly not an amateur, gifted or otherwise. I am helping him out," said Myrtle.

"Right. Well, to answer your question, I was out. Guy and I were at the piano bar, as a matter of fact. We were trying our hand at accompanying the piano," said Maisy.

Miles, who had recovered and tossed the errant rolls into a nearby receptacle, returned to overhear the last bit. "Accompanying it? With ... what? A cello?"

Maisy looked amused again. "No, silly. Does anyone travel with a cello? With our voices. Sort of a karaoke. Without the words. Sometimes we made up the words."

Miles appeared pained at this information. Myrtle had the feeling that the pianist had, too.

"To me, the saddest part of this whole thing is that your mother's death wasn't natural," said Myrtle. "It's very hard to believe she was murdered."

Maisy raised her eyebrows archly. "Absolutely not. It's definitely not hard to believe she was murdered. I'd have murdered her myself if I'd been creative enough to figure out a way of doing it. Kudos to the murderer for finding a means—that's got to be challenging on a ship. We have to go through so much security to get here that it's got to be almost impossible to put one's hands on a weapon."

Miles cleared his throat. "I suppose you know it was a champagne bottle. Very heavy, of course."

Maisy nodded. "Yes. And ironic that alcohol would, even indirectly, kill Mother. She wasn't much of a drinker." She glanced at her watch. "Speaking of, where did Guy get to with those drinks?"

"You say that you can easily see that someone would have murdered your mother. Why? And who do you think is most likely?" asked Myrtle.

Maisy gave that snorting laugh again. "Who didn't want to? Mother stifled me. She bossed Eugenia. She was a horrid friend to Bettina. She belittled Randolph. And she ruined Terrell's life. Out of all those people and all the potential motives? It's hard to say."

"Your mother ruined Terrell's life?" asked Miles politely. "Does that still happen in this day and age? Young people are too independent to allow their parents to interfere with their lives enough to ruin them."

"Terrell was under Mother's thumb when he was a teenager. He didn't have an original thought in that egghead of his," said Maisy. "I felt sorry for him."

"What did your mother push him into?" asked Myrtle.

"What didn't she push him into?" asked Maisy. "She forced him to go to med school, forced him to get married to someone completely unsuited for him. He ended up in a profession he despises and is divorced all because Mother wanted the prestige of having a son in medicine."

Miles said, "But Terrell is a middle-aged man. Surely any bitterness from being pushed into medicine and marriage must be long gone?"

Maisy raised her eyebrows. "Clearly, you don't know Terrell. He's the definition of the word bitter. He's convinced he could have been an astronaut or some such nonsense. He always was very interested in science as a kid, but not biology. His thing was space. All he does is mope around all day and shoot Mother hateful looks. What's more, I heard him having a huge argument with her just a couple of days ago."

"What did he say?" asked Myrtle.

"Well, as I overheard, he was barely able to get a word in edgewise because Mother was really letting him have it. You see, for her, Terrell was letting her down, not the other way around. The only thing I heard him say back was in this really cold voice of his: you'll be sorry."

Myrtle and Miles glanced at each other. That did indeed sound ominous.

Maisy suddenly studied them through narrow eyes. "Say. Do you two like to dance?"

Myrtle laughed. "I never was crazy about it and now I'm definitely out of practice. Why?"

"The dancing on the ship in the disco room is really fun," said Maisy. "And the more people the better—it really makes it more exciting when the room is crowded." She could apparently tell that Myrtle and Miles were not very enthusiastic about the disco room. "Sometimes they play slower stuff, too. You should try it out."

Miles said, "Actually, the idea of the ship moving and me moving that fast and a disco ball throwing lights up on the wall ... it's making me feel a little nauseated." He pushed the band on his wrist.

Maisy rolled her eyes. "If you say so. You two should learn to live a little."

At this point, Maisy's friend Guy returned with a waiter. Guy was holding two drinks and the waiter was holding two and a small plastic tray holding a bill and a pen.

"I thought this would save us some time trying to chase down drinks later," said Guy. "It's incredibly busy at all the bars."

The waiter, trying to juggle the two drinks and the bill, accidentally let go of one of the drinks. The glass hit the floor and most of its contents sprayed up on Maisy. Her face was purple with anger and her hands shook. She was livid. Maisy immediately launched into a tirade on the hapless waiter while Miles did his best to move as far away as possible to indicate he had nothing to do with the screaming harpy nearby. He opened his eyes wide to Myrtle and she nodded and said quietly to Guy, "Goodbye."

"Wow," said Myrtle, after they'd finally gotten out of earshot of the yelling Maisy. "She has some temper."

"Like mother, like daughter," said Miles. "I don't remember Celeste being particularly mild-mannered."

"Seeing that kind of outburst makes me wonder if Maisy might be our murderer. After all, Celeste's murder doesn't exactly seem to have been planned. To me, it's more likely that the killer knocked on Celeste's door and was obviously let in since the killer was close to Celeste. Whoever it was might have started arguing with her and then grabbed the nearest heavy object in a cloud of anger. In a panic, they'd have wanted to get rid of the body," said Myrtle. "And Maisy seems to fit that profile to a T. We've seen her angry—that poor waiter."

Myrtle and Miles sat down in a small conversation area close enough to hear the pianist in the lounge behind them. They spent a few, quiet moments listening to the classic music playing and looking at the beautiful landscape out the window.

Miles said, "Right. But don't you think that Celeste could have made anyone that mad? She seemed to have a gift for upsetting people. I bet Celeste could even infuriate the angelic Eugenia if she'd tried. And Maisy seemed to indicate that Terrell was positively seething with bitterness over his mother's influence in his life."

"Yes, she certainly did that," said Myrtle. "Which makes me wonder why she's so keen to implicate him. There doesn't seem to be any love lost between brother and sister. Besides, Maisy is one to talk about influence. From every indication, Celeste had Maisy completely under her control. Maisy even bought new and Celeste-unapproved clothing for the cruise. And she's taking the opportunity to live it up without her mother around."

Miles said, "True. But it's obvious that Maisy was on the point of rebelling anyway. She seemed to be enjoying rubbing her behavior in her mother's face. She didn't have to kill her to get her independence ... she was having her teenage rebellion thirty years late."

"I wish we'd had the chance to talk to Maisy a little longer," said Myrtle.

"Really? I'd relish the opportunity to never talk to Maisy again," said Miles fervently.

Myrtle said, "I wanted to know why she said that her mother was 'a horrid friend to Bettina.' Bettina certainly hasn't indicated that they had a rocky relationship in any way."

"That might just be Maisy being spiteful," said Miles. He yawned. "I know I'm supposed to take advantage of the nighttime entertainment, but I'm completely exhausted. I'm going to have to call it a night. The combination of glaciers and investigating is apparently very tiring. What are we doing tomorrow? I've forgotten."

"Well, I for one am going ashore. In fact, I offered to go ashore with Jack so that Red and Elaine could have some time together," said Myrtle. "They can shop or tour or eat a quiet meal or do whatever they want."

"So, if it's tomorrow," said Miles, staring at the ceiling as if the trip itinerary might be thoughtfully printed up there, "it must be ...."