Murder of a Needled Knitter by Denise Swanson Page B

“It’s four thirty. I need to goand change.” She stared pointedly at Skye’s shorts. “And so do you.” May continued toward the door. “I’ll pick you up in twenty-five minutes.” As she exited, she ordered, “Wear something nice.”
    Skye shook her head. “What does she think I’ll put on for a cocktail party, a pair of jeans and a T-shirt?”
    â€œNah.” Owen got to his feet and pulled Trixie up beside him. “That’s just the way some people are. Not happy unless they feel in control.”
    â€œI know.” Skye was surprised by Owen’s insight. Her opinion of him was rapidly improving on this trip. Instead of being taciturn and oblivious, he was actually quite perceptive. A lot like her dad.
    â€œDo you want to have dinner together?” Trixie asked, then slid a glance between Skye and Wally. “Or do you need some alone time?”
    Skye raised her brows at Wally, silently asking if he preferred a romantic meal for two. He hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug and tilted his head in her direction, leaving the decision up to her.
    â€œWe’re good,” Skye decided. “Let’s meet at one of the main restaurants.”
    â€œHow about the Titian dining room?” Trixie asked. “We haven’t eaten there yet and I understand the artwork is fantastic.”
    â€œSure.” Skye looked at her watch. “Is seven too late for you?”
    â€œBecause your folks will want to eat earlier?” Owen asked with a knowing grin.
    â€œYeah,” Skye admitted, then explained, “The cocktail party will bring me up to my mom quotient for the day. And although Wally’s been a good sport about my folks, he deserves a parentless dinner.”
    â€œSince we didn’t eat lunch until nearly two, I can last until seven.” Trixie poked her husband’s arm. “And we’ll get Owen a snack after we figure out who Sebastian is.” She headed to the door. “There’s a happy hourwith four-dollar drinks and free appetizers for suite passengers from five until six thirty in the Haven.”
    â€œGreat.” Skye closed the door behind her friends and rushed to the bathroom. “Shoot! I need to shower and figure out what to wear. And I only have twenty minutes.” She stripped, grabbed a shower cap from the basket of toiletries on the marble counter, and stepped under the cold spray. No way could she get her hair dry if she washed it.
    Wally said something, but the water drowned him out. Skye shrugged. He’d repeat it if it was important. Right now, she had to concentrate on getting ready. If she kept her mother waiting, May would harp about it during the entire party.
    As Skye swiftly washed, the vision of Guinevere bleeding out at her feet slammed into her. She sagged against the smooth ceramic tiles and felt hot tears running down her cheeks. The knitting guru might have had some serious personality flaws, but no one should have to die that way. And no one’s murder should go unpunished.
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    The cocktail party was held at Fresco, an intimate lounge on deck sixteen next to Raphael’s, the second of the
Diamond Countess
’s specialty restaurants. Skye and May were among the first to arrive, and while her mother filled out their name tags, Skye glanced around at the people already at the party.
    Fresco was reminiscent of a New York–style piano bar, and a Frank Sinatra look-alike was softly playing “Come Rain or Come Shine.” As more knitters poured into the small space, the swell of their voices drowned out the song and Skye felt sorry for the pianist whose long-suffering expression indicated that he was used to his performance being relegated to nothing more than background music.
    May joined Skye and handed her a white rectanglewith red yarn stitched along the border. May had printed Skye’s name in black Magic Marker