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By Root 404 0

a combination of headache and preoccupation. It annoyed me to think that Kyla might be right about something, but in the end I decided I should probably take her advice—which meant I was going to have to start by apologizing to Alan for my rudeness. And after that, if he would listen, I needed to tell him about all the things I knew. Whatever else he was or wasn’t, Alan Stratton was not involved in the murders. I’d finally figured out what had bothered me earlier. If he suspected me of being involved, that could only mean that he wasn’t involved himself. And if I didn’t try to talk with him, I would hate myself forever. The tour was coming to an end. I’d never see him again. Did I really want to leave without knowing what he wanted to tell me?

We had a couple of hours on the ship before our evening excursion. Kyla decided to lie out on the sundeck with a book, which gave me a chance to look for Alan without having to hear her mock me.

Of course I couldn’t find him. He was not in the lounge, not in the gift shop, not on the sundeck. Frustrated, I was just crossing the lobby when I saw Anni.

She smiled, radiant and welcoming as always. She actually looked pleased to see me, when she had to have been glad to have a few minutes to herself. I did not know how she did it.

“Hello, Jocelyn. Do you need something?”

“No, no. Not really. Well, yes. Do you know where Alan is?”

Her face retained its usual serene expression, but I thought her eyes held a knowing glint. “Perhaps he is resting in his room.” She opened the little notebook she carried and scanned down a page. “Room 207.”

“Thank you,” I said. I started for the big curving staircase, and then hesitated, wondering if I should call first. But the lobby seemed too public.

Anni just smiled, as though reading my thoughts. “Why don’t you just tap on his door? I’m sure he would be delighted.”

I gave her an embarrassed grin, then, taking a deep breath, I started up the stairs. I found his room and knocked quickly, before I could change my mind.

The pause, although probably only a couple of seconds, seemed an eternity. I had just decided he must be out when the door opened.

His hair was damp, as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, and he had on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, probably thrown on to answer the door. His feet were bare and his eyes looked particularly green.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but no sound came out.

He rose to the occasion. “Come in. I’m really glad to see you.”

He took armfuls of clothes off the chairs by the big picture window and dumped them in a crumpled heap on the unused second bed. We stood and looked at each other.

“I wanted to apologize…”

“I’m really sorry…”

We both spoke at the same time and then he laughed. “I know it should be ladies first, but if you’ll let me, I’d like to explain.”

I nodded.

“I own WorldPal Tours,” he said.

“What?” I stared at him, my mouth hanging open a little in surprise. Not what I expected, but suddenly his questions, his involvement with the police, his odd comings and goings clicked into place.

He nodded. “I started it ten years ago. I had a lot of experience traveling, and when I got out of school, my partner and I got the idea that we could arrange tours better than most travel agents and that we could provide local knowledge and service by hiring local guides. It worked out surprisingly well. We found a niche, a step above budget tours but still reasonably priced, and we’ve done pretty well.

“Three or four times a year, I go on one of the tours myself as a guest, just to see how things are going. Usually I don’t find anything out of the ordinary at all. Oh, I might notice that too much time is spent on the bus one day, so I’ll tweak the schedule for the group. Or one of the hotels has gone downhill, so I’ll scout out a suitable replacement. I rely heavily on the local guides that I hire and things are usually pretty smooth. Until recently.”

“Millie’s death,” I said at once.

“Well, yes, but even before that. A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail from Anni, saying that she didn