Who could have killed her? The local papers in Greece were undoubtedly having a field day with Athena’s death, especially because it happened only eight months after her aunt’s murder. Two members of a wealthy, prominent family dying violently was the stuff that sold papers. Maybe if I could read a transcript of what is being written in the Greek media, it might remind me of something I’ve overlooked, Regan thought suddenly. She decided that when she called Livingston in the morning she would ask him to get newspaper accounts from Greece translated and faxed to her on the ship. The prospect was comforting. At least it was a start.

She finally fell into a troubled sleep in which, in her dreams, the creaks and groans of the ship were transformed into the sound of footsteps pursuing her. It was Veronica who awakened her at 8 A.M.

“Wake up, sleepyhead. Oh, how I wish I could sleep with the abandon of the young. I scarcely closed an eye all night.”

Regan opened her eyes to find Veronica already dressed in an orange-and-white-striped jumpsuit with a matching headband.

“Directly after breakfast they have the Sit-and-Be-Fit class. I can’t wait to meet the people.in it. Hurry and get ready. We’ll go down to the Lido Deck for coffee and rolls. I don’t want to waste a minute of this adventure.”

Regan showered quickly, her half-remembered dreams and churning thoughts about Athena foremost in her mind. She felt as though she were in a long corridor with many doors and didn’t know which one to open. She wished she could talk it through with Jeff. Sometimes using him as a sounding board clarified her own thoughts.

When she opened the bathroom door, she nearly ran into Veronica, who had been ready to pound on it.

“Don’t take such long showers, Regan. It’s very drying on your lovely young skin. And now let’s be off. Our public awaits us.”

Chapter 19

TUESDAY, JUNE 23

GAVIN GRAY DID not enjoy a fulsome night’s sleep. Visions of a diamond-and-emerald bracelet danced in his dreams. When he recovered it, and redeemed it, he would have at least a million dollars. Tax-free. Decently invested, that could mean an income of ninety thousand dollars a year. For that he could rent a château and live like a king on the Costa del Sol in Spain. Far away from the likes of Veronica Exner and old Mrs. Watkins, not to mention the Buttinskys or whatever the heck their name was. He would never have to lay eyes on another Bingo card ever again.