45ebf3c490593574dd454e5dfd5a5758

“All the time,” said Mrs. Biles. “And as often as I can with my husband and my daughter. I just hate sitting at home. I don’t have any hobbies besides traveling, and the worst thing you can do is tell me I can’t travel. I’d go nuts.”

“Oh, that’s not entirely true, Mama,” said Laura. “You love to entertain, don’t you?”

“That’s true,” Mrs. Biles admitted. “I do love to throw a good party.”

“Where do you live?” asked Odelia as she sipped from her glass of wine.

“Arlington, Virginia. You have to visit me sometime, once your honeymoon is over, and when I’m between cruises.”

“You do cruise a lot, don’t you, Mama?”

“What can I say? I love it. This is my seventh time on the Queen of the Seas. I could live on this boat. And why not? You always meet such interesting people, the food is great, the climate, the sights… The Caribbean cruises are my favorite, like this one and the Disney cruises. Though I like the Alaskan cruises, too. And the European ones.”

“I once read a story about a man who actually lives on a cruise ship,” said Odelia. “I mean actually lives his whole life on the boat. I can’t imagine what kind of life that is, though. I think I’d miss my family too much.”

“And what do you call home, dear?”

“Hampton Cove,” said Odelia. “Long Island. Right next to Happy Bays.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard of it,” said her husband.

“Oh, it’s just a small town, but it’s lovely, and since I’ve lived there all my life, I know just about everybody.”

“Her uncle is chief of police, and her uncle’s girlfriend is the mayor,” said Chase.

“And you’re a policeman, too?”

“That’s right. I’m a cop, and Odelia is a reporter, and occasional amateur sleuth.”

“You’re famous,” said Laura, waving her phone. “We googled you and found plenty of articles you wrote.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself famous,” said Odelia with a laugh. “But I’m the only reporter in town, apart from my editor, so if you google Hampton Cove my articles are bound to pop up.”

“You solved a lot of murders, too,” said Mrs. Biles, her eyes widening with interest.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say a lot…” Odelia murmured.

“Don’t be so modest, babe,” said Chase. “Odelia is an excellent sleuth,” he added, placing his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “In fact I wouldn’t know what to do without her—professionally or privately.”

“Oh, isn’t that sweet?” said Mrs. Biles, clasping her hands together. “Such a devoted couple. Who does that remind you of, honey?”

“Why, you and me, of course, sweetie,” said her young husband.

“Married three years this fall, and still as much in love as we were when we first met,” said Mrs. Biles, and pressed a sweet kiss on her husband’s lips.

“That’s so sweet, isn’t it, Max?” said Dooley with a sigh. “So in love.”

“Very sweet,” I agreed. But then I caught a look Laura gave David Biles, and wondered if there wasn’t more to the story. Because that look struck me as that of a woman deeply in love.

7

I can’t say I was completely at ease, but the fact that we’d been fed and that our two humans were close by did lull me into letting my guard down for a moment. And as Odelia and Chase chatted happily away with the members of the Biles family, I placed my chin on my front paws and was soon snoring away to my heart’s content.

But then something tapped me on the nose and I opened my eyes to discover that the white ball of fluff that had been in Mrs. Biles’s lap had come to life and was staring at me. It had momentarily retracted its paw with which it had flicked me across the nose but was now tentatively extending it again, clearly with the idea of repeating the procedure.

“Who are you and why are you touching my nose?” I asked therefore.

“Oh, ha!” said the tiny white hairball. “I thought you were dead!”

“I’m not dead,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Who’s dead?!” asked Dooley, who’d also woken up from this minor altercation.

“Nobody’s dead,” I said. But if this tiny hairball kept flicking me across the nose while I was trying to get a little shuteye I had a good idea who would be soon. Dead, I mean.

“I’m Salvatore,” said the hairball. “And who are you?”

“Salvatore?” I said, still not fully awake in spite of the harsh treatment.

“Isn’t that a coincidence?” said the ball of fluff. “So your name is Salvatore, too?”

“No, his name is Max,” said Dooley.

“Max?”

“That’s me,” I said, and yawned prodigiously.

“Are you… a ferret?” asked Dooley now, taking a keen interest in the tiny ball.

“No, I’m a dog,” said Salvatore happily, not the least bit insulted by this mix-up. “A teacup Maltese, in fact.”

“Teacup?” asked Dooley. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what I am. A teacup Maltese, on account of the fact that I’m smaller than a regular Maltese dog, I guess.”

“Oh, you’re a dog,” said Dooley.

“That’s right. I’m a dog.”

“And you live in a teacup.”

“No, I don’t live in a teacup,” said Salvatore with an indulgent smile. “How about you?”

“No, I don’t live in a teacup either,” said Dooley, “and neither does Max.”

“No, I mean: who do you belong to?”