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us.”
    With the exception of Skye, no one from ScumbleRiver knew that Wally’s father was a millionaire, or that Wally’s mother had left him a hefty trust fund when she died. Wally was careful to live within his means, and if anyone noticed that Wally’s father seemed to have more money than he should, the story was that the CEO of the company that Carson Boyd worked for was very generous.
    Before either Trixie or Owen could wonder why Carson’s boss would give his employee’s son such a lavish gift, Skye said, “We’d better find somewhere else to sit. We’ll move so we can be together.”
    â€œNo need to do that,” Owen assured her. “As of five p.m. today we are occupying the St. Maarten suite.”
    â€œYou were upgraded?” Skye squeezed Trixie’s hand, thrilled for her friend.
    â€œNot exactly.” Trixie twisted her mouth. “We’ve been through hell since we boarded and the suite is sort of a consolation prize.”
    â€œWhat happened?” Skye asked. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?”
    â€œWe’re fine.” Owen crossed his arms. “But a lot of our stuff isn’t.”
    â€œFirst it was the air-conditioning,” Trixie said, taking over the story. “When we got to our cabin yesterday it was too warm. We complained and they sent someone to fix it. Apparently, whatever the repairman did to the AC made it worse, because during the night it got hotter than hades.”
    â€œSince we were in an interior cabin with no way to get any fresh air, we ended up sleeping out on deck,” Owen interjected.
    â€œThis morning,” Trixie continued, “we complained again and this time the guy really screwed something up because both the toilet and the shower stopped working. We notified the purser’s office just before we went over to the island this afternoon and when we got back, evidently the sewer system had had some sort oferuption and everything that we had left out in or near the bathroom was covered with you-know-what.”
    â€œOh, my gosh!” Skye bit her lip. “How horrible. So much for a dream vacation.”
    â€œIt was ridiculous.” Owen’s nostrils flared. “How could a cruise line let something like that happen?”
    â€œOn the bright side,” Trixie went on, “the purser moved us to a suite and gave us vouchers for the shops on board so we can replace our belongings.” She bounced in her seat, smiling widely. “Now we can sit together, and have breakfast in the special restaurant together, and do all the things together that the suite people get to do.” Suddenly she frowned. “Wait a minute.” She turned to Wally. “You said something about knitting.”
    â€œRight.” He nodded. “That’s the big group the travel agency from town booked. Why?”
    Trixie looked at Skye. “Didn’t you say that your folks were taking a knitting cruise?”
    â€œUh huh.”
    â€œYour mom . . .”
    â€œExactly,” Skye confirmed. “Odds are that my parents are on board, too.”
    â€œNo.” Trixie pointed below to the main floor of the theater. “Your mom is down there and she just poured her drink over some lady’s head.”
    They all peered over the balcony railing. Skye gasped and clutched Wally’s hand. May was standing nose to nose with a soaked Guinevere Stallings, and both women were screaming bloody murder.

CHAPTER 4
    Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
    â€œE leven o’clock and all’s hell,” Skye muttered to herself as she stared at her soaked and battered mother, slumped in the chair next to her.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” May slurred. “Did I knock out that witch?”
    â€œDon’t say a word,” Skye hissed. “If you have something to say, put up your hand.”
    May waved.
    â€œNow put your palm over your mouth,” Skye