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only supposed to stand in in basket cases.”
    “Such as?”
    Ingrid shrugged, looked over at a table near the wall. “Mrs. Phelps. Over there near the wall. The stewards, the junior officers, even the cruise director have orders to see that she doesn’t have to sit out any dances, doesn’t have to drink alone.”
    Liddell followed the girl’s glance. Mrs. Hilda Phelps was in her sixties, a fact that the hennaed hair, two face lifts and three strands of beads around her neck failed to conceal. She was addicted to too much make-up, her rouge was two blobs of red in the dead white of her skin, her mouth a garish smear of carmine. When she talked, her glistening white teeth were far too even to be real. Seated opposite her, trying to look enthusiastic and interested, was Jack Allen, the cruise director. From the way his eyes hop-scotched around the room at intervals, Liddell got the impression that he was looking for relief. But the junior officers, if any were around, were steering clear of the bar.
    “Mrs. Phelps is unattached and very generous,” the blonde told Liddell. “If you’d care to meet her—”
    “No, thanks. I wouldn’t think of trying to cut in on Allen or any of the rest of the staff.”
    Ingrid’s chuckle was deep. “Maybe you like them a little younger? Fran Eldridge is only about twenty or twenty-one and I’m sure her father has as much money as Mrs. Phelps.” She turned, surveyed the room. “They may not have come back aboard yet, but—” She broke off, squinted at the glass-enclosed area on the port side. “Oh, there they are, in the lounge. The tall girl with the white-haired man.”
    Fran Eldridge was not only tall, she was pitifully thin. Her hair was a mousy color, wispy. She wore it tucked untidily behind her ears. She squinted as she looked around, in preference to wearing the glasses that had been prescribed for her.
    The man at the table with her was small, dapper. His white hair was plastered neatly on his head. Despite the informality of the attire of the others in the bar, he wore a shirt and tie with his blue linen suit. As Johnny watched, the man snapped something at the girl, she self-consciously dropped her hand from her mouth where she had been macerating the cuticle of her thumb.
    “Another basket case?” Liddell wanted to know.
    “Not exactly. She’ll be well taken care of for the rest of the cruise. The junior officers drew straws for her and the third officer won—or lost as the case may be. Anyway, he’s been real attentive.” She checked her watch. “Usually around by now to take her off her father’s hands.”
    “And old Dad?”
    Ingrid grinned. “Finds himself a card game or someone to drink with. He usually closes the Midnight Sun. That’s our late bar. Opens when the others close. All the regular crowd ends up there every night.”
    “You make it?”
    Ingrid pursed her lips. “Depends. Sometimes I drop by for a nightcap on my way to bed. I can’t stay up late like the passengers can. I’ve got to be up at six to give the fatties their morning exercises.”
    “Maybe it would pay to stay up all night.”
    “Not for me. I have to get my beauty sleep.”
    Liddell grinned. “Looks like you’re a little ahead of the game.”
    The blonde pouted with mock severity. “We’re not getting very far—”
    “I wouldn’t say that,” Liddell told her.
    “I mean about finding someone to introduce you to. After all, that’s what I’m here for. To see that you unattached passengers get acquainted. And you’re making it pretty tough.”
    “Why don’t we do it this way? Let me look around, and if I see anything that appeals to me, I’ll ask you to do the honors.”
    Ingrid looked doubtful. “The captain doesn’t like it if there’s any trouble on his ship. He gets real narrow-minded.”
    “I’ve already met your captain,” Liddell said.
    The blonde raised her eyebrows. “Then you really are VIP?”
    Liddell shook his head. “It wasn’t exactly