It was to Ginger’s great relief that the storm abated overnight, and the sun once again broke through the clouds the next morning. Neither she nor Haley felt up to a full breakfast and decided a quiet morning inside was in order. They took a simple glass of orange juice with them to their room.

Ginger opted to keep Boss with her after their short visit to the kennel (which smelt worse than ever; her heart went out to the poor steerage folk). She explained to Scout, whom she was relieved to see had sustained himself through the storm, that Boss was fairly nervous as a result and should stay by her side for the day.

“Are you going to report your uncomfortable encounter with Babineaux to Chief Inspector Reed?” Haley asked.

“It occurred to me,” Ginger admitted, “but in truth, I was the one in the wrong, having been found trespassing. Except for Babineaux’s menacing body language—which I could’ve misinterpreted; the lighting in that room is terrible, and no doubt we both looked like ghouls—the cook never did anything untoward. I’m afraid the chief inspector would just give me one of his haughty looks, along with a lecture to leave the police work to him.”

“Not bad advice,” Haley said strongly. “If Babineaux is the killer, you really could be putting your life at risk.”

Ginger agreed. “He’s obviously quite smitten with Mrs. Walsh and seems compelled to protect her. Apparently, the captain could be quite wicked with his words.”

“Babineaux wanting to release his lady love from distress is a powerful motive for murder.”

Ginger gracefully crossed one leg over another. “Mrs. Walsh has her own motive.”

“Right, the mistress.”

“So sad to be locked in an unhappy marriage,” Ginger said sombrely.

“Better to be single, I say,” Haley replied. “So, where does this leave Nancy Guilford and Officer MacIntosh? They are in cahoots in some form or fashion. There’s not a legitimate reason for him to be a guest in her private room.”

“Miss Guilford and the first officer each have a potential motive for wanting the captain dead,” Ginger said. “Perhaps with them it’s a case of working together for a common goal, and not a lover’s liaison.”

“Well, if it’s not the cook and the wife, then it’s probably the actress and the officer.”

“Unfortunately, we have no proof.”

Haley nodded. “And time is ticking.”

By noon, their stomachs felt a tad steadier, and they ventured towards the dining hall. Seamen continued to work vigorously to mop away standing water and ocean debris that the waves had flung on deck. Ginger and Haley clung to each other to prevent themselves from a fall on the slippery surface.

The hall was spectacularly empty, and Ginger didn’t doubt that many folk were still curled up in their beds recovering from the storm. After a light meal, Ginger collected Boss, and she and Haley joined a few other heartier travellers on the main deck, each claiming a free lounge chair to enjoy the sun. Ginger and Haley claimed a lounger, one next to the other, and Boss rested in the shade between them.

Ginger adjusted her grey straw hat, the wide brim pinned up at the front and decorated with two sprigs of imitation grapes. “I’m surprised you didn’t vote to stay in the room to study.”

“Even God took a day off.”

“Oh, is it Sunday?”

Haley closed her eyes and tilted her chin to the rays. “It is to me.”

As time went on, more passengers joined them for fresh air and sunshine after being holed up in their rooms during the storm. The women wore light cotton or rayon day frocks, with straw hats and white gloves. The men kept to light-coloured linen suits and matching flat linen caps. Well-dressed children held on to their mother’s skirts, and Ginger spotted a small girl wearing a pretty chemise Jeanne Lanvin frock.

A man wearing a white shirt and thin black tie under a Fair Isle sweater slowed his pace as he walked by and tipped his hat at Ginger. She smiled and watched as he joined a woman reclining in a chair down the row.

“Men!” Haley spat. “That was an obvious pass at you, and he’s got a lady waiting only a few yards away.”

Ginger sobered. “All the good ones died in the war.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Haley reached for Ginger’s hand and squeezed. “I can be so thoughtless at times.”

“It’s quite all right. Now, where were we?”

“In the middle of solving a mystery.”

“Yes. So much more fun than men.”

Haley grinned, and Ginger laughed.

Elise Walsh eventually ventured out in her trademark black, narrow-waist dress suitable for a woman in mourning. Long black-lace gloves reached her elbows, and her eyes were partially hidden behind a black veil pinned to her short-brimmed hat.

Ginger noted with interest that Mrs. Walsh’s cheeks sported a colour she hadn’t had before. She whispered to Haley, “Mrs. Walsh is looking better than ever.”

“You’ve heard the term, ‘happy widow’?” Haley said.

Mrs. Walsh walked past Ginger and Haley without acknowledging them. Ginger was just about to call out, when Nancy Guilford turned the corner onto the lounge deck and nearly ran head-on into Elise Walsh. The heat of bitterness flashed between them, and Ginger worried that if they had been men and not refined women, a fistfight might’ve broken out.

Mrs. Walsh skirted around Nancy in a self-righteous huff, while Nancy’s stare was like a knife blade to the widow’s back.

“No love lost there,” Haley said after a moment.

Ginger agreed. “One probably suspects the other.”

“One is probably right.”