Mask on the Cruise Ship by Melanie Jackson Page A

couplets,” and they both laughed.
    Madge, I saw, was looking very happy. Fresh and bright too, I noticed, glancing over my shoulder at her as Mother rushed us towards the station. Then I realized — Madge wasn’t wearing any makeup. No foundation, no eyeliner, nothing. And her hair was up in a plain old ponytail. A first.
    Not that Madge needed makeup. Her skin was like porcelain and her eyelashes, framing those brilliant lupine blues, were naturally long and dark.
    I remembered Jack’s talk with her about not having to be perfect all the time. It had paid off! My sister was finally loosening up.
    Wait a minute. Madge being too happy isn’t good, I thought. Too happy could lead to a wedding. I frowned at Madge and Jack, who were poring over a brochure with a map of the White Pass & Yukon Route train tour we were about to take.
    â€œThe White Pass summit is two thousand, eight hundred feet,” Jack observed and let out an appreciative whistle. “Hey!” he exclaimed to Madge. “You sure you’re going to be all right on this trip? The train really barrels along, and on a pretty narrow track. I mean, with your, uh, your — ”
    â€œTendency to throw up?” Madge supplied. She smiled at him. “Know what? You’ve been very therapeutic for me. After we had our talk last night, I didn’t throw up once.”
    â€œI think I’m about to, though,” I muttered.
    â€œAbout to what?” inquired Mother. She gave me a harried look over the shoebox full of tickets she was carrying. “Dinah, you’ve got this odd habit of mumbling to yourself. I’d reprimand you for it, except I know you inherited it from me. It used to drive your father crazy … Here, you keep this, dear,” she thrust the box into my hands, “and I’ll check people off on this clipboard as they pick up their tickets. Yes, good plan, Suzanne,” Mother mumbled to herself.
    I sat down on the bench, the shoebox on my lap. “Dah DAH dah dah DAH dah,” I sang. “The TRAIN on the TRAIN track … Hey, will Evan be on the tour?”
    â€œNo, he’s staying on the ship.” Mother shrugged. “Wants to work on his song. Says he can’t enjoy excursions when he’s trying to think of lyrics.”
    Phhht! I ran my fingertips along the tops of the envelopes. Evan might have another reason for not going on tours. A sinister one. It had sure been suspicious the way he snuck down to Julie’s door when he knew she was busy playing volleyball. Maybe he intended to prowl around some more.
    â€œSTUFF AND NONSENSE!”
    I jumped. Ira Stone was beside me.
    He chuckled. “Frightened you, did I? Hee-hee!”
    I retorted good-naturedly, “Hee-hee, yourself.”
    Mother gave me a slight frown for being uppity, as she would say, with an adult. Remembering my duties, I flipped through the envelopes to the one labeled STONE, IRA and handed it to him.
    The effort of chuckling had shaken Ira’s thin frame; the cane he was leaning on wobbled this way and that, as if caught in a strong wind. Concerned he’d topple, I shot out a hand to steady the cane.
    Empress Marie passengers started approaching Mother. Ira whispered to me, “Could you do me a favor, young ’un? Seat me somewhere else on the train than beside Lavinia O’Herlihy. She got Trotter to put us side by side. Thing is, I can’t stand the woman — she’s always nagging me about what a good wife she’d make.”
    The effort of speaking was also too much for Ira. He broke into a series of racking coughs. I edged down the bench, away from him. The guy must be unleashing germs by the battalion — and he was not, I noticed in Mother-like disapproval, covering his mouth when he coughed.
    Me, Mother-like! Holy Toledo. I’d better watch that.
    Still, I did feel sorry for Ira. I didn’t blame him for feeling annoyed, with Lavinia trailing after