"With binoculars?"

"Come on. Hurry."

I scanned the menu through the glasses and then turned ever so discreetly in the direction of the woman and her mate.

It was her alright. The hair was slightly the worse for wear after eight years of colorizing but definitely she was the one. Seeing her after all that time brought back poignant memories. I could almost hear her voice sobbing those unforgettable words: 'Oh my husband. I loved him so much, and, now, here he is drowned. Why, oh why, did someone cause the rescue efforts to be truncated?'

Linda grabbed my arm and recaptured the opera glasses.

"Hey, I'm sorry I told you. I just wanted to be prepared in case you bumped into her accidentally. Now heed my words and steer clear."

I would have heeded them if I thought she really meant them, but you know women sometimes mean exactly the opposite of what they say. And she was right. This was the real responsible party, a murderess, and all these years I had been carrying around the enormous weight of her guilt, so unfair.

Leaving the dining room I took a detour past the couple being relatively sure Carrot Top would not recognize me sans baseball cap.

Her partner really was pathetic. Thin and trembling he seemed to be gumming his meat which she had minced for him. Jeez, why not wait this guy out. He appeared to have one foot in the grave and the other on a tray of ball bearings, but then I supposed that sometimes these types can linger annoyingly for years. I would keep my eye on them despite opposition.

The next port of call was Corfu Island, and, as we approached the gangway, just ahead was Red pushing Bag of Bones in a wheel chair. On land they got into a taxi. Very suspicious. The guy staging the cabs told me they were going on a car tour of the hills. Looking up at the mountains, which were not too imposing, I still could conjure up a vision of the poor old man careening downhill in his wheel chair picking up speed like a street luge on Telegraph Hill and climaxing in a spectacular fiery parabola into a rocky ravine.

We went our own way for the morning. I ceased to worry about Bones as I felt he was safe on land, water being the historical killing venue for our lady. I had not thought much about her motivation, but I assumed it was simply a money thing. The professor must have had some insurance or maybe property or money passed down to him. It occurred to me that maybe the brassy lady was some variant of a sadist or someone acting out an infantile resentment against a father figure, but probably the money thing was more likely. The professor had seemed a very mild and unresentable character.

We wandered first in the old quarter looking at leather goods and sampling a sweet cordial made from kumquats, of all things, but tasty. We strolled toward the Citadel and then climbed as high as we could to enjoy the fabulous view of the town and the placid sea surrounding the island.

As one often does in beholding a particularly old and beautiful site I wondered in how many epochs, eras, and civilizations, people, Greeks, Venetians, even Americans had looked at these same hills and water and sky and reacted with the same deep appreciation for its beauty. But this time I also wondered how many of those predecessors had looked at the vast expanse of calm blue sea and contemplated the infinite possibilities for pushing and holding a weak and unresisting victim beneath its surface.

On return to the ship we saw our woman ahead of us once again, and I felt mildly thankful this lovely stop was not to be a crime scene, at least not this day.

There were two last stops, Croatia and Venice. I figured our gal would make her move the next day and I planned a full court surveillance. I would follow the pair to town, give Linda the slip, and then, incognito, keep them in sight and hopefully stop Lady Macbeth in the act or at least get a digital photograph. Maybe I could sell the photo. That was a thought.

All this depended on getting an early start so I got up before Linda got dressed and then went down to the gangway to watch for our people. When they showed I ran up to get Linda. Turns out it was raining, and, for reasons I could not grasp, she would not let me wear a trench coat with shorts. So I had to change, and, by the time we got outside, our quarry had already departed in a taxi for the walled city.

I had my camera and a police whistle I had gotten from room service. When we arrived at the gate it was obvious we were too late. There was a circle of those little toy European police cars, some larger rescue vehicles, and a cadre of men in silly uniforms smoking cigarettes. We didn't have to ask, but we did. 'Horrible accident -that nice couple- a sweet caring woman- she and her husband. He had been sick, paralyzed, despondent.'

So that was that. No longer needing a disguise, I turned my cap around, and we followed the crowd into the gates to explore the old city.

Linda said, "I told you that woman was bad news. At least this time you're not involved."

So we forgot about a man who narrowly missed becoming part of our history as his unfortunate predecessor had done eight years earlier.

We were back in tourist mode, and the next morning we were walking the stones of Venice before any of the other passengers. In the afternoon we would tour Murano and Burano and, in the evening, enjoy our final dinner aboard.

Linda had found a pair of contiguous antique shops that intrigued her, and I obtained permission to wander on my own for a half hour. Singing "That's Amore" and munching some licorice, I ambled down a side street where I tripped over a ghost.

Fortunately, it was not the ghost of the man I had helped sink years ago but the day-old variety. Seated at an outdoor table was Mr. Bag of Bones, only looking healthier, hair darkened somewhat, sipping a torrefacto and biting breadsticks. I had jostled his table, but he reacted pleasantly.

"Ciao, Bill. Are you enjoying Venice?"

"So, you know me?"

"Sure. You were in the dining room the night of the high seas. I noticed you surveilling us with binoculars."

"Opera glasses." I corrected.

"You look shocked. I guess you hadn't heard. Yesterday my wife had an accident. She fell from the parapet down onto the water and rocks. Right now they are not sure if the cause of death was drowning, suffocation from a crushed chest, or crushed skull but the skull thing is the odds on favorite."

"Awful. How could such a thing happen?"

"Lucille had wheeled me to the edge and was lifting me up from the chair so I could get a better look. She was always thinking of me. She had her arms around my chest and back and jerked me up so hard that her hands came loose and her momentum carried her over the side. It was, you know, a freak accident. Terrible. And to add insult to injury, the police were unable to recover her wig."

"Should you be here?"

"There is an autopsy pending and an inquest scheduled for Tuesday, but I'm not at all sure I'll be able to add anything so I may just skip it."

"They just let you go?"

"I think they assumed that I was immobile."

I looked at him sitting with his legs crossed. "Well aren't you, weren't you…?"

"Crippled?"

"Well, yeah."

"Hysterical paralysis. No hope, no treatment, no cure. Then comes the shock of Lucille hitting the deck and, like magic, the psyche is shocked, the scales fall away, the neurons become unblocked, and now I'm up and about again. I suppose this is my silver lining."

He sighed a sigh of contentment.

"What about burial? Mustn't you handle funeral arrangements?"

"No can do. I'm afraid it might be depressing, and I might relapse." Another sigh, this time melancholy.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm hurting inside. I feel almost as though I'm cursed. A few years ago an uncle of mine who raised me and was like an older brother drowned in a ferry boat accident. And now this. It's awful. I'm almost afraid to love again."

Then he brightened. "But then again, we're in Venice, the Bride of the Sea, so who knows. Say, we have one more night aboard ship and I'm alone. May I join you and your wife for dinner?"

My turn to breathe in deeply. "Sure thing, but one condition, if you don't mind my being rude. Let's agree to confine the conversation to religion and politics. No personal reminiscences alright?"

"That's fine with me. I'd really like to put some distance between me and this whole thing. Once you get to know me you'll see that I don't like to dwell on the negative."

The End