Veronica quaffed down the bubbly contents of her glass before Regan could even pour her own. She extended it for a refill. “Now for our toast.”

Regan remembered that Philip had warned her that Veronica could not tolerate much alcohol. But, she reasoned, she could hardly refuse, and she was safe enough here. She filled both glasses and dutifully clicked hers with Veronica’s, who sang, “Bon voyage, dear Regan, bon voyage.”

As Regan took her first sip the bubbles tickled her nose. “Good stuff, Veronica.”

“It goes down like water, my dear.”

Regan prudently carried the bottle back inside. She was taking no chances on leaving it with Veronica. And she wanted to keep busy. The sight of all the happy people saying good-bye to their loved ones suddenly made her feel sad. What were Athena’s parents doing right now, knowing that their daughter was never coming home? She tried to push the thought away as she filled the dresser drawers.

I’ve got to make the best of this, she told herself. It is Veronica’s vacation. Next week I’ll go over every line of my journal. Maybe I’ll find something that will help Livingston.

That led her to wondering whether Jeff was back in Los Angeles. When she left he’d been on location in Canada shooting a mini-series. Regan had initially hired him to help out in her office and go along with her on surveillances when he was between acting jobs. “You’re getting too famous for me,” she had told him recently. “I can’t take you along because people recognize you.” But he was always available to bounce ideas off, and he’d been a real help in cracking some of her cases. “Detective work is just like acting,” he had said, “you’ve got to figure out the character’s motivation.”

She had just jammed the last suitcase in the overhead closet when she heard Veronica shriek, “Monica, Monica, I say, is that you?” Regan whirled around to see Veronica’s body bent horseshoe-shaped over the railing. She raced outside as shouts of “Be careful!” chorused from the promenade deck. She locked her arms around Veronica’s dangling thighs and yanked her back.

“My God, Veronica, what are you doing?”

Veronica seemed oblivious to the danger. “That woman in the pink hat isn’t Monica after all. But what a startling resemblance.”

“If you’d leaned over any more, that hat would have been squashed into a beanie.” Regan sighed. “Please, Veronica, you must be careful.”

“Is everything quite all right up there?” someone shouted.

“Lovely. Just lovely,” Veronica yelled down to the dozens of distant staring faces. She gave Regan a glassy-eyed smile. “I hope the rest of the champagne is still nicely chilled, my dear.”