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Judith’s ear. “May Belle Beales, cruise director—better known as Dixie,” Renie said to Judith. “I recognize her from the brochure photos.”
    â€œGood evenin’, honored guests,” Dixie said in a soft Southern drawl. “It’s mah pleasure to welcome y’all to an interlude of piano music from that long-ago era of the 1930s. Durin’ the cruise itself, we’ll have a big band—a verra big band—to play for your listenin’ and dancin’ enjoyment. Tonight is just a li’l ol’ sample, courtesy of mah meager talents. Please join me in the other half of the saloon.” With a gracious gesture, Dixie signaled for everyone to join her.
    The cousins fell in behind Jim Brooks and Anemone Giddon. The ethereal-looking young woman glanced over her shoulder. “Hi,” she said in a breathy voice. “I’m Anemone. Jim says you’re the Cousins.”
    Renie grimaced. “You make us sound like a rock band.”
    Anemone giggled. “It’s how I remember people. I can’t ever recall anybody’s name, so I give them a description.” She pointed up ahead to the St. Georges. “They’re the Dipsos, the captain is the Captain, Émile Whoozits is the Purser, my mother’s lawyer is—”
    â€œWe get it,” Renie broke in. “The Cousins get it.”
    The other half of the saloon was lighted only by mica-shaded wall sconces. Comfortable armchairs had been placed at small round tables. As her eyes adjusted to thedemilight, Judith could make out a black grand piano on a cabaret-type stage.
    â€œSorry about this,” Renie whispered in apology. “I didn’t know there’d be entertainment that we’ll have to pretend to enjoy even if we’d rather be hung from the yardarm.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” Judith said, scanning the short program that had been left at each table. “She’s going to play just six pieces. Piano arrangements inspired by Duke Ellington, Tommy Dorsey, Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, and Artie Shaw.”
    Dixie Beales had arranged herself on the bench. She gazed at the sheet music, flexed her fingers, and scowled. Getting up, she moved to the edge of the stage and spoke to Émile Grenier. He stood up and limped to the rear of the piano.
    â€œA moment only,” Dixie announced. “The piano lid hasn’t been fully raised.”
    Anemone and Jim were sitting at the table next to Judith and Renie. “The Fun Lady,” Anemone remarked from behind her hand. “I bet she’s wearing a wig.”
    Judith smiled politely. Renie remained immobile.
    Dixie had moved to assist Émile. Their efforts were obscured from the audience by the piano itself.
    â€œThe lid must be stuck,” Jim Brooks said. “Maybe I should help. Émile doesn’t look like the strongest guy in the world.”
    â€œThe purser’s small but wiry,” Anemone asserted, looking pleased with herself for making the observation. “Though he has a bad leg.”
    â€œI’d like to hear some Cole Porter,” said Horace Pankhurst at the table adjoining the engaged couple. The big man used a cocktail napkin to pat at perspiration on his thick neck.
    â€œCold what?” his blond companion asked. “You mean Coldplay? They’re a great band. They’re Brits, you know.”
    Horace looked as if he didn’t know. “Oh? Well, whatever the music, it’s taking long enough to get that piano open. Somebody ought to take a crowbar to it.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t want to use a crowbar on an expensive piano,” Renie noted. “My good friend Melissa Bargroom, who just happens to be our newspaper’s music critic, says that an instrument like that costs—”
    A loud, piercing shriek from Dixie Beales cut through Renie’s words. Both cousins stared at the stage. Dixie had disappeared, apparently having fallen to