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with an old-world European.”
    “You’re thirty?” Bailey asked, awestruck. “I never would have guessed you were that old.”
    Oh, yeah. That made me feel a whole lot better.
    Bailey tightened her hand around her tissue, her emotions unraveling. “This…this is the worst day of my life. You might have lost your boyfriend,” she sobbed, “but I lost the man who’s the head of my graduate committee. He was supposed to sign off on my dissertation! How am I supposed to finish my Ph.D. without him? I’m in debt up to my eyeteeth to pay for my education, and I could be left with nothing! No degree, no title. No nothing!”
    She stuck her hand out for another tissue. Tilly obliged.
    “Was Professor Smoker in good health?” I asked gently, trying to redirect the conversation. “I mean, did he suffer from vertigo, or motion sickness, or some other kind of condition that might have caused him to lose his balance and fall over a five-foot-high rail?”
    Bailey removed the tissue from her face and stared at me wide-eyed. “Fall? He didn’t fall. He was pushed!”

Chapter 3

     
    “W HAT?”
    Fresh tears scalded Bailey’s cheeks. “It was horrible. I saw the professor struggling with someone near the aft rail. I screamed at them to stop. I yelled for help, but” — her voice cracked — “no one heard me! The deck was deserted! Two thousand passengers on this ship, and not one of them was within earshot to help me!”
    I stared at her, too numbed to say anything but, “He was pushed?”
    “He was murdered!” Her tone grew screechy as she battled a rising sob. “The…the two of them disappeared behind the bulkhead when I was running toward them. I thought I could reach him in time to help, but…I wasn’t fast enough.” She sucked in her breath, then let it out again in a rush of words. “By the time I reached the stern, Professor Smoker was in the water and the man who pushed him was gone!”
    “Fella musta run around the other side a the deck,” Nana speculated. “Did you run after ’im?”
    “No! I had to help Professor Smoker. I…I ripped a life ring from its box and tossed it over the side, but” — her face grew crimped and red as she wailed out — “but his head had already disappeared! I couldn’t see him anymore!”
    She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, chest heaving. I wrapped my arms around her and patted her back. “You can’t blame yourself.”
    “Yes, I can! If I’d run a little faster, Professor Smoker might not be dead!”
    “If you’d run a little faster,
you
might be dead,” I said gently. “Think about it. After taking care of the professor, the killer might have turned his sights on you.”
    “I wish I
was
dead,” Bailey sobbed. “Everything I’ve worked for — without Professor Smoker’s imprimatur, it’s not worth spit.”
    Nana retreated into the bathroom and returned with a paper towel compress. She placed it on Bailey’s forehead. “At least you got a good look at the fella.”
    “But I didn’t,” she whimpered. “He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. I didn’t see his face. I couldn’t see his hair. I think it was a man, but I was so far away, I’m not even sure about that. For all I know, it could have been a woman! The captain asked me for a description when he looked in on me a little while ago, and all I could tell him was that the person was wearing a hooded gray warm-up outfit.” Sobs. Tears. Nose blowing. “What good am I as an eyewitness? If they never catch Professor Smoker’s killer, it’ll be all my fault!”
    I’d be more apt to fault the fashion industry for encouraging the unisex look in athletic attire, but that was just a personal opinion.
    “Why was Professor Smoker on deck twelve in the first place?” Tilly inquired.
    “He wanted to check out the golf simulators.” Bailey gave an indulgent eye roll. “He loved golf. He claimed it was his only vice. Well, that, and Indian cuisine. So while he