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okay?”
    â€œOf course she is. She’s my mother, by the way. She didn’t believe a word of it. But it frightened her. She wanted to know what the hell is going on here. As do I,” Vera said. “What kind of a cruise is this where someone gets killed and it’s reported that someone else was killed? What a bunch of hooey.”
    Sheila stood in shock. Hooey, indeed. But in the meantime, she still didn’t have that scrapbook.
    â€œI do apologize,” Grace said. “It’s so embarrassing.”
    â€œWhere’s Sheila’s scrapbook?” Paige said, after a few moments of awkward silence.
    â€œWe’ve been asked to leave the room as is until the FBI can do a sweep,” Matt said. “Standard procedure. They will meet us at the next port of call. When an American citizen is murdered on a cruise, the FBI takes over the investigation.”
    â€œFBI?” Sheila said. “I’ll never get my scrapbook back!”
    â€œWe’ll make sure you do,” Grace said. “Please don’t worry.”
    â€œThe next port of call is in two days in Mexico,” Vera said. “Do you mean that we’ll be on the ship with a murderer for the next two days?”
    â€œOur security staff will ensure the safety of our passengers, but please keep all this to yourselves. We don’t want mass hysteria on board,” Grace said, with a tight smile, her cheeks stiff with stress. She wore bright red lipstick, perfectly applied, yet her face glowed with a sheen of sweat. “Why don’t you all go to the crop? Sit back and relax. Have fun. We’ll take care of everything.”
    â€œI wish I could believe that,” Paige said as she turned to go.
    â€œPlease let me know when you have my scrapbook,” Sheila said, turning and following Paige. Eric and Vera trailed behind them.
    The captain of the ship smiled at them as he walked by on his way to Allie’s room. “Mrs. Rogers, good day to you.”
    They had had dinner together the first night she was onboard. Sheila found him an absolute bore. She smiled and nodded politely, but kept moving.
    They found their way back to the crop, where Randy was saving their seats.
    â€œWhere have you all been?” he said, flinging his arms out.
    â€œYou would not believe it,” Paige said, sitting next to him. She motioned to the young server who was passing out champagne.
    â€œI’ll take one, but do you have anything stronger?” Paige asked.
    â€œWhat would you like?”
    â€œBourbon, straight up, please.”
    â€œMake mine a double,” Vera said.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Randy said, looking over his almost done page. He’d watched his mother and her friends scrapbook for years and sometimes joined the crop when he was a kid, but he hadn’t scrapbooked in a long time. “It just needs a little something. Maybe glitter?”
    â€œStay away from glitter,” Paige said. “There’s a reason I outlawed it in our house. Lethal stuff.”
    â€œHmm,” he said, and placed his page back on the table.
    Paige then told him what had happened.
    â€œMurder?” he whispered. “This sounds crazy. Nuts!”
    â€œMama,” Vera said into her cell phone, “Sheila is fine and right here.”
    But Sheila wasn’t certain she was fine. This morning she’d fallen over the dead body of Allie Monroe. Her head still ached from her concussion, and her scrapbook was still in a room where a murder investigation was taking place. She took a sip of her champagne and shrugged. At least she wasn’t dead. She glanced around at the people surrounding her—that man was still there. She took another sip and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. She glared back at him and he turned his head quickly.
    â€œNow, croppers, I have a treat for you,” a voice said over the microphone. “I know it’s Christmas, but I love