The ship, for all its lack of law enforcement, did house a brig—really just a small, secure room. It was in this room that Bettina was placed once the ship doctor, Dr. Powers, was able to rouse her. Apparently, the fact that she was stopped in the process of attempting to smother Myrtle, meant that the crime would end up being reported to the FBI upon return. Although they wouldn't investigate murders, a witnessed crime-in-progress appeared to be a different matter. And, considering that the somewhat loopy Bettina had fully confessed to Red that she'd committed the other crimes (and Red had been smart enough to record her confession with his phone), the other victims would also receive justice.

Myrtle found that she was very happy to spend the rest of the at-sea day quietly in the ship library with Miles instead of discussing the murder case with Red. What's more, during the long flight back home to North Carolina, she found herself frequently falling asleep ... aside from a frenetic plane change in Dallas. Maybe it was the fact that she was modeling sleeping so well, that Jack, who was in the middle seat between Myrtle and Elaine, also slept more of the way back home. It made for a very peaceful trip back. When they got back in at night, Myrtle saw that her yard and house looked quite tidy. It made her wonder again if Dusty and Puddin had really knocked themselves out that morning and had been slack the rest of the time she was gone.

It wasn't until the day after they'd returned back home to Bradley that Myrtle resumed her regular schedule. She woke up at the crack of dawn Eastern Time, which was the middle of the night in Alaska. The first thing she wondered was whether Miles were also up. She decided to walk by his house to see.

Sadly, Miles's lights were out and his house was dark. Myrtle raised her hand to ring his doorbell anyway and then hesitated. Miles had said that he had not slept on the plane. Not one wink. Perhaps it would be better if he continued to sleep and then they could have lunch at Bo's Diner. Even better if he drove her to the grocery store afterward so that she could restock her pantry. Best of all, if after they went to the store, they watched Tomorrow's Promise together.

Myrtle's head was full of plans as she turned to walk back down the sidewalk toward home. Which is likely why, when a dark, furry thing brushed against her, she shrieked. Myrtle wasn't ordinarily much of a shrieker.

It was Pasha, and the black cat appeared amazingly undeterred by the loud noise her owner made as she brushed back and forth repeatedly against Myrtle's legs.

"You dear, brilliant cat!" praised Myrtle. "You knew I'd come back!"

Miles's lights were now on, unnoticed by Myrtle until his front door opened and Miles appeared, steel-gray hair standing on end, robe hastily thrown on, and glasses crooked on his nose. "Yelling," he said in a tired voice, "is an unusual wake-up tactic for you, Myrtle, but quite effective."

"As a matter of fact, I was being very thoughtful," protested Myrtle. "I was walking back home so that I wouldn't disturb you. It's only that Pasha decided to have a lovefest with me and she startled me. The darling."

Miles, who hadn't seen the black cat in the darkness, took an automatic and wary step back.

Myrtle realized an apology appeared to be in order. "Ah ... sorry about waking you up. Just go back to sleep and I'll check in with you later. I've been formulating Bo's Diner plans and soap opera plans." She carefully left out the bit about the grocery store, guessing that the errand would sound less than appealing at five a.m.

Miles said, "You should realize that's not how it works. I'm up for good now."

"Well then, follow me home. I want to feed Pasha."

Pasha led the way back, knowing that tuna was at the end of the trip. Myrtle and Miles formed a small parade behind her. As they walked up to Myrtle's house, a figure separated from the dark shadows on the porch and croaked, "Welcome home."

This time, it was Miles who shouted in surprise. Pasha hissed at him and Myrtle gave Miles a reproachful look. "Really, Miles. It's just Wanda."

Miles nodded in relief before looking alarmed again. "But it's not even dawn yet. Surely you didn't walk here all night, Wanda!"

Wanda shook her head and followed Myrtle inside before sitting gingerly on Myrtle's sofa. "Dan has a gig and has to be at the shift early. Painting."

For the life of her, Myrtle couldn't imagine Dan doing a decent painting job, but it definitely wasn't her problem.

Wanda looked solemnly at Myrtle. "You got back home."

"I did, with your help. Very prescient tip of yours, Wanda. The snow globe was the right tool," said Myrtle.

Wanda nodded. "Knew snow would be helpful. Wasn't sure how."

"Since you've had such clear sight for me, maybe you can answer a question for me. How tidy was my house and my yard while I was gone?" asked Myrtle intently.

"Mine too," said Miles quickly. "That is ... if you came by and assessed things while you were in town at the newspaper."

Myrtle rolled her eyes at Miles. He was definitely not hopping on the psychic bandwagon, despite large amounts of evidence that Wanda had a gift.

Wanda, however, didn't seem to take offense. "Didn't come by, but I know anyway. Houses and yards looked great."

Myrtle frowned. "Okay. I'm not doubting you, Wanda, but that's not exactly in line with what I'm used to from that duo."

Wanda nodded again. "Subcontract."

"What's that?" asked Myrtle sharply.

"Them subcontracted out fer it. Puddin's niece. Real good at cleaning. Real cheap, too. Even did the grass."

Myrtle and Miles stared at each other.

Myrtle said, "That Puddin and her nonsense." She took a closer look at Wanda. She looked tired, as she had before Myrtle left town. Myrtle said, "Wanda, I think you need a break. You probably could use a weekend at a spa, but that's not in either of our budgets."

Wanda nodded.

"So, as a poor but low-cost substitute, let's have you stay with me for a few days. Of course, you don't have any of your things, so we'll have to take you home to pack you a bag," said Myrtle.

Wanda lifted her bony arm and, sure enough, there was a small overnight bag hanging there.

Myrtle smiled. "Or maybe you do have an overnight bag. Perfect. I guess we just need to let Dan know?"

Wanda shook her head, indicating that she'd already informed her brother of her future invitation.

"Then we should move right on to a meal." Myrtle decided that she was going to ask Sloan for a raise for Wanda. Her horoscopes were popular enough to warrant it, and Myrtle had the sneaking suspicion that Wanda's income was going to overdue bills instead of groceries. As she walked to the kitchen, she wasn't exactly sure what she could create out of the contents of her kitchen. "Well, should we have some breakfast?"

Miles looked doubtful. "Have you got any unspoiled food? Or will we be forced to eat a meal created entirely out of ketchup and mayonnaise?"

"Company comin'," said Wanda gruffly.

A second later, there was a tap at the door. Miles answered it to find Red standing there. He was holding a plastic grocery bag.

"Red!" said Myrtle in surprise. "Surely you haven't converted to being an early riser?"

"No," answered Red carefully. "It's just that when people are screaming outside before dawn, we police chiefs seem to jump out of bed." He gave Myrtle and Miles a hard look. Miles blushed.

"It's all Pasha's and Wanda's fault for surprising us," said Myrtle with irritation. "You'd scream, too. But all will be forgiven if you have some sort of food source in that grocery bag."

Red grinned. "Elaine had biscuits in the freezer. I think this may be a good occasion to defrost them since you seem to be hosting a slumber party."

"No slumbering here!" protested Myrtle. "But we'll take the biscuits. Elaine is an excellent cook. Why can't she start a cooking hobby instead of trying out crafts?"

Red shrugged as he handed over the bag. "I've no idea. I could really sign onto a cooking hobby. But she's already found a pottery club of some sort, so I guess any cooking will have to wait."

"And we'll have to fill our homes with unique-looking pottery," said Myrtle with a slight shudder.

As Myrtle defrosted the biscuits in the microwave, Miles asked, "Have you heard anything about Bettina?"

Red said, "Only that she's in jail and likely to stay there. Certainly can't afford bail, and the family didn't seem particularly interested in contributing. She's confessed to the authorities anyway, so it should be pretty cut and dried. At any rate, she's in a place where she can't harm anyone else." He paused before changing subjects. "Mama, what are you doing today? Need me to run you by the grocery store?"

"Oh, no. Miles is going with me later," said Myrtle breezily.

Miles appeared surprised by, and then resigned to, this news.

"Besides, most of the day today, I'll be writing my story," said Myrtle.

Red raised his eyebrows. "Story? A helpful hints column for the paper, I hope?"

"Certainly not. Sloan practically begged me to do a travelogue of our trip," said Myrtle scornfully.

Red gave her a hard look. "Are you sure? That doesn't sound like the kind of thing that Sloan usually likes to put in the Bugle. He prefers the excessively local stories—little Timmy Logan's bike accident and the scar that followed. Or Horace Stringfellow's big catch out in the lake and how many pounds it was. A report on our cruise itinerary isn't remotely local."

"Wanda and I will be heading to the Bugle office later today," said Myrtle with a sniff as she removed some biscuits and put them on plates.

Wanda, naturally, didn't look at all surprised to hear that. It was likely why she was at Myrtle's house to begin with. She hungrily attacked a biscuit without even waiting for Myrtle to put butter out.

"Wanda will be turning in her most recent horoscopes and I will be turning in my article. My pièce de résistance," said Myrtle.

"Why am I not surprised by your lack of modesty?" asked Red of no one in particular.

"What's your story angle?" asked Miles.

"It will be a new type of article. A travelogue/crime story/investigative report. Cruising on the high seas with a killer ... and no cops in sight. The wild, wild west of the sea!" said Myrtle.

"I'm a cop," reminded Red dryly.

"Who frequently wasn't in my sight, so there," said Myrtle complacently.

Miles said, "It sounds like a novel. A melodramatic one."

"An unbelievable one," said Red.

But Wanda said in a knowing tone and a gap-toothed smile, "One that will be picked up on the newswire to all the papers."

***