for legs, a broad chest, and a World Navigators Club name tag that identified him as Gjurd. The other boasted feathery white-blond hair, a lithe, wiry body, a wide gap between his front teeth, and a name that J. R. R. Tolkien might have given to one of his elves -- Ansgar.
"You will excuse us, please?" Nils offered politely, nodding to each of us.
"Before you go --" Nana grasped Nils by the arm and looked far up into his face. "You're a tall one, aren't you? You oughta meet Emily's ex-husband sometime. She's tall, too. And it's even worse when she's wearin' them stiletto heels. She's fixin' to become a famous romance novelist. Isn't that somethin'? She woulda come on the cruise with us, but she come down with a bad case a writer's block, so she's in therapy instead."
Nils stared at Nana, stoic and confused. I clapped a hand over my eyes and shook my head. Oh, God.
"Do you happen to have any M&M's on you?" Nana inquired. "I only need two."
This prompted a boisterous discussion among the three men that ended when Ansgar asked a question that Nils translated. "Plain or peanut?"
Almond, crispy, and peanut butter obviously hadn't made their way to Norway yet.
"Don't matter what kind. They just gotta be blue."
Nils unzipped a pocket in his cargo shorts and pulled out a small crinkly bag. "Skittles are similar, yah?"
Nana shook her head. "They gotta be M&M's. But if you see a roly-poly gal with only one eyebrow walkin' around, offer her some a them Skittles. Her name's Helen, and you'll make her day."
Nils forced a cautious smile before he and his companions strode off in the direction in which they'd come. In bygone days, these guys would probably hop into their Viking ship and storm down the coast to plunder and burn. Civility had certainly altered their way of life. A bout of plundering these days probably meant hopping into the Anchor Bar and knocking back the entire bowl of beer nuts.
"Looks like they're throwin' in the towel," Nana reported from the rail. "The launches are headin' back to the ship, but they've left some markers in the water."
Tilly shook her head. "Considering the currents and tidal activity, his body will probably reappear nowhere near this area, but I suppose that's protocol."
I stepped out from my little cubbyhole near the bulkhead to eye the sleek contour of the two decks that rose above us. "Exactly where was he standing when he fell?"
Tilly pointed upward. "Deck twelve. One level up. Near the golf simulators on the port side."
I braved the wind to stand next to the rail, which was a mile-long beam of polished wood mounted atop slanted Plexiglas panels. It was pretty high, hitting me just below my collarbone, which meant it probably would have hit Professor Smoker about midchest. "How do you manage to fall off the deck of a ship when the guardrail is almost as tall as you are?"
Nana shuffled over to us in her spanking-white, size five sneakers. "After what happened on the Italy tour, I thought you said you was never gonna be suspicious about another freak accident, Emily."
I gnawed my lip thoughtfully. Yup. I remembered saying that. And meaning it...at the time. "But this is so bizarre. Look at this thing." I slid my hand along the guardrail. "It's built like an obstacle in a steeplechase. You're not going over this thing unless you're on a horse." I frowned distractedly. "Not to jump to any conclusions or anything, but if you ask me, I think it's impossible for anyone to fall off this ship."
"I quite agree," Tilly said, "which leaves us no alternative but one." She thrust her walking stick at my shoulder bag. "I believe the infirmary is on deck three, Emily, but you'd best dig out your map. I think we should pay Ms. Bailey Howard a sick call."
"Emily figured out in no time flat why so many guests ended up dead in Florence, didn't you, dear?" Nana leaned over to pat my knee as we sat in the waiting room.
I slid down a notch in my chair. Florence. Not to belabor the point or anything, but I DIDN'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT FLORENCE!
"She wowed the group so much with her fancy theories, there was even talk a someone interviewin' her for one a them early-mornin' programs on KORN, or a human interest story for the Register." Nana framed her hands in the air around an imaginary headline. TOUR