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    Elio instantly brings a pitcher and a glass and puts them on the small table beside her. He looks at his wife, who sits scrunched down deep on the couch, seemingly dazed. He sits down beside Angelina and reaches for her hand.

    We wait expectantly.

    "I don't know if I can go on," Amy says. "I'm so ashamed."

    "Please," Angelina says. "I need to know."

    She calms herself and begins again. "Then suddenly, things got wild. The men started drinking more while we played, and then they wanted us to join them and catch up. Every night we partied in each other's rooms."

    I look around and realize that Jo Martinson must have reserved this same room on her last trip. It was creepy imagining these things happening where we now sat.

    "One of the men brought drugs. Ecstasy, cocaine, who knows what." Amy pauses. "The parties escalated. Beth and Meg were gung-ho for it all. They were flirting with our husbands. Jo and I were uncomfortable. Then, the last night on board, things got ugly."

    Amy rises and opens the door and walks out onto the balcony, keeping her back to us. We can see her lean over the railing with her head hanging down. The wind is blowing her hair.

    Evvie starts to get up. I touch her arm to keep her down. Sophie and Bella are now whispering to Ida.

    Amy remains outside. There is a rustle of movement in the room, but we stay where we are.

    I look at Angelina, still huddled down in the couch. What must she be thinking?

    Finally Amy comes back in and sits down again. "Money does funny things to you. I wasn't born rich like Elizabeth or Margaret. Jo and I talked about it the few times we were alone. We grew up middle-class. But as we watched the other two, we realized that we had become like them. We felt privileged. We had come to expect people to cater to our every want. We were above everyone else. Special. Worldly. It didn't always come easily, but that's what Jo and I had learned in order to belong.

    "My family was horrified when I married Harry. My first husband died and left me very wealthy. I was alone for a long time. Finally, watching my rich friends, I decided I could buy a man like I would a new Rolls or a second home in Europe. I met Harry at the vet where I brought my show dog, my
bichon frise,
to be cared for. He was an assistant—you know, cleaning cages, feeding the animals. But I took one look at him and I knew I could have him. Harry grabbed at the chance. He didn't pretend to love me, but he knew the rules. Be my companion, in bed and out. Behave lovingly to me in public. I gave him a long leash." Amy laughs. "He lived a separate life. I didn't care what he did as long as he didn't embarrass me."

    She sits there, lost in her troubled thoughts.

    Finally I remind her, "The last night?"

    "Everything seemed . . . surreal. We were drunk and drugged. The men were mean. Their jokes were about us, and cutting. As if safety in numbers made them brave enough to say what they really thought of these silly women who had bought them. I tried to tell Jo, but she was numb."

    Amy gets up again. "I can't stand it," she says, and bursts into tears. She paces, now speaking quickly as if to get it over with. We follow her with our eyes.

    "We met them in that bar they liked so much with that leering devil's face. They looked guilty about something. And also excited. Yes, very excited. They had just dumped the room key cards on the bar and were picking them up again . . . not picking up their own keys. No, not their own."

    " 'Last night on board and the ultimate game.' I remember it was Tom Johnson who announced it. He walked—more like wobbled—toward Margaret and put his arm about her, nuzzled her neck, and waved her room key at her. 'Shall we?' She got it right away and nuzzled back. Margaret was giggling and winking at us as they walked away."

    Now Amy stops moving. Her voice seems strangled.

    "Then Dick Sampson went over to Jo. She was so far gone, I don't think she even knew what was happening. And my Harry snuggled up with Elizabeth. I saw a look in his eyes that made me shiver. There was cruelty. Like the vet's assistant he was, about to put a pit bull down." Amy's voice becomes a whisper. "Bob Martinson took me. I didn't want to go with him. I tried to get away but his hand holding my arm was like steel."

    Elio mumbles an angry Italian curse word. Angelina seems devastated. She moves even closer to him for comfort.

    Amy looks at me. "I wasn't honest with you. I thought about calling the women, but I was ashamed. And I thought they might be, too. I was so sure that we would meet again on this trip— without the men—and maybe be able to talk about what went wrong."

    She sinks back down in her chair, eyes closed, utterly exhausted. Angelina gets up and, with her walker, moves over to her and touches her hand gently.

    It is very quiet in the room. We can hear the band playing on the deck right above us and people laughing.

    "Those sons of bitches!" snarls Elio, nearly leaping out of his seat.

    Angelina grabs his arm to restrain him. "What's to figure out? They killed their wives. They were after the money."

    "They all had alibis," I say.

    "Then they hired a killer. That's what rich people can do," Angelina adds.

    Here goes nothing. I'm going to ask, but I know the answer. "Amy, I was informed that the other women had prenuptial agreements. Did you?"

    "Of course. Harry knew up front. I had a settlement drawn up for him. A very generous one. My house to live in for his lifetime. A large monthly allowance. Stocks and bonds. He was very satisfied with that."

    "Then, what changed?" I ask. "Why would four strangers suddenly decide to kill all their wives?"

    
Since this was the last night on board—
Captain's Dinner night on the world-famous cruise
ship
Heavenly—
the four young, handsome men
were elegantly dressed in tuxedos. They were deep
in intense conversation.

    
They were diligently drinking, as well, four
empty martini glasses lined up in front of each.
One newly filled. It was time for a toast.

    
Totally unmindful of the activities around
them, they ignored not only the posh couples
parading past them along the walk-through corri
dor, but also the Angels' Strolling Choir serenading
the guests with suitably chosen songs for the cock
tail hour. Right now they were singing "Pennies
from Heaven."

    
Yet the men noticed nothing. They lifted their
glasses.

    
"The game's over. It's our game now."

    
"It was all about trust."

    
"No promises broken."

    
"No backing out."

    
"Agreed."

    
"All for one and one for all."

    
They clinked their glasses with shared smiles.

    
The woman was pushing fifty, pretending to be
forty, overdressed, overly made-up, desperation
hidden by her idea of witty repartee. She elbowed
up alongside them.

    
"Can I believe my eyes? Four dashing guys
drinking alone without pretty women draped
around their shoulders?"

    
She ran her fingers through the blond hair of
the man seated closest to her. He removed her
hand.

    
"Sorry, old girl, take your business elsewhere."

    
"Yeah. We're happily married guys," said the
next one. But there was ice in his voice belying his
words.

    
Rebuffed, she tried for an exit line. "I never
met a happily married guy, let alone four of them.
Maybe they should put you in a wax museum or
something." With that she backed off.

    
It was as if there had been no interruption. The
men removed their room key cards from their
pockets and tossed them onto the bar. Each man
chose a key card other than his own.

    
"They thought we wouldn't find out?"

    
"They're in for a big surprise."

    
"Hot time in the old town tonight."

    
"What I like best about it . . ."

    
"Yeah?"

    
"No one, and I mean no one, will ever figure
it out."

I
t's two o'clock in the morning and I'm pacing. Not easy to do in a room the size of a postage stamp. The girls fell asleep early. No wonder, they were exhausted. I am, too, but my mind won't shut off.

    "Glad?" I hear Evvie whisper. "You can't sleep?"

    "No. I'm sorry, did I wake you?" I whisper, too, so that we don't wake Ida.

    "I have to get up to go to the bathroom anyway." With that she walks past me into our tiny commode.

    "Don't forget, don't flush," I say.

    "I know," she answers.

    The mechanism that makes the toilet flush is so loud it could wake the dead. The first time we heard it, we nearly jumped out of our skins. Then we started to laugh and decided never to flush at night.

    Evvie comes back out and sits down on our lone chair. "What a day!"

    "That's for sure." Amy has moved in with the Sicilianos, sharing their large suite. Elio swears he will guard her with his life. She will be safe with them. He is all for going to the captain tomorrow morning and telling him what we know. But I can guess what Captain Standish will say. What makes us so sure? What's our proof? How would he find a killer among thousands of people? A nameless hired assassin.

    "What's bothering you?" Evvie asks.

    "It's the motive. If I could only make that connection between those men." I sit down on the edge of my mattress and cross my legs yoga-style.

    "They talked it over and decided they wanted the money now."

    "But why? They had plenty of money and plenty more coming later. They had a sweet setup. Why take a chance on maybe getting caught, ending up in jail and getting nothing?"

    "Sometimes when people get in a group, someone starts to give the others the idea."

    "Maybe, but it would have to be strong for them to chance losing what they already had."

    "You want to watch the late movie? Maybe it'll put you to sleep." Our ship makes sure we're entertained twenty-four hours every day.

    "I hope so. If it's an oldie in black and white, that'll get me to nod off."

    We both climb back down onto our mattresses. Evvie turns on our TV and keeps the sound low. We scrunch into our pillows to get comfortable and pull the covers around our necks.

    Evvie punches my arm in excitement. "Look! Look what's on. It's one of my favorite movies."

    In a matter of moments I recognize
Strangers
on a Train.

    "Aw, shucks," Evvie complains. "We missed the part when Robert Walker tells Farley Granger about killing one another's wives. Ooh, I love this movie."

    "And I love to sleep!" Ida opens one eye, pulling her pillow over her head.

    "Go ahead, who's stopping you?" Evvie answers.

    "What are you watching?" Ida asks, her voice now muffled.

    
"Strangers on a Train."