Free Murder of a Needled Knitter by Denise Swanson Page A

considered anything she experienced as fodder for her plot. “According to several Web sites I found, ship’s security isn’t equipped to handle murder investigations. They put the body in the morgue and they might—emphasis on the word
might
—cordon off the scene, but most forensic evidence is lost.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me!” Skye was appalled that there was so little effort to solve crimes committed on cruise ships. “Why is that?”
    â€œLike that security officer told you, the cruise lines don’t want to spoil the picture of an idyllic vacation, so they tend to sweep under the rug any incidents that might mar that image.”
    â€œThat’s just wrong.” Skye was horrified that criminals went free because of the fear that investigating their crime might cause a public relations problem. “How do the cruise lines get away with that, especially since so many passengers are Americans?”
    â€œThere’s a subcommittee in Congress conducting hearings on the issue.” Trixie lifted her hands, then letthem fall. “But who knows if anything will change. Meanwhile, the cruise lines have agreed to turn any victims or victim’s bodies over to the FBI when they return to their home port.”
    â€œAnd we won’t be back in Fort Lauderdale for five more days,” Skye said, half to herself. A second later, she leaned closer to Guinevere and said to Trixie, “I don’t think she’s breathing anymore. Should I try mouth to mouth?”
    Before Trixie could answer, a man dressed in an officer’s uniform pushing a gurney dashed into the lounge. On his heels came several crew members wearing black T-shirts with S ECURITY stenciled in white across the front. Skye waved and the group rushed toward her.
    â€œI’m Dr. Jimenez.” The man pushed Skye aside and said, “I’ll take over.”
    The security team evaluated the situation, then ushered Skye and Trixie to the far side of the lounge. Because of the frosted partition between them and the crime scene, they could no longer see what was happening with Guinevere. The security guy ordered them to stay put, then used a walkie-talkie to contact his boss.
    While the two women waited, Trixie slipped the memory card out of her camera.
    When she tucked it into her bra and replaced it with a spare from the pouch around her waist, Skye leaned over and whispered, “What are you doing that for?”
    â€œIf they search our belongings, they might confiscate my Nikon, and I want to make sure I don’t lose the pictures I took.” Trixie frowned and began to repeatedly hit the camera’s DELETE button. “I don’t know if the images stay on the Nikon once the card is removed, but I’m not taking any chances.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” Trixie bit her lip. “I just have a hunch that I should. If they see them on the camera and not on the memory card, they might realize I have a spare and take it, too.”
    Skye started to respond, but was distracted when Lucille Trencher ran into the nightclub and hurried over to where the doctor was working. A few minutes later, she walked into the area where Skye and Trixie sat. She frowned when she saw Skye.
    â€œWe meet again.” Officer Trencher looked down at Skye, her expression now neutral. “Who’s your friend?” Once the introductions had been made, the security chief had one of her staff take Trixie away and said to Skye, “What happened?”
    â€œMy friend and I were looking for my mom,” Skye explained, then crossed her fingers and fibbed. “We wanted to see if she was available to join us for lunch.” Considering May’s history with Guinevere, Skye didn’t think it was wise to admit that she was actually checking up on her mother. “Mom mentioned that she had a knitting group activity in Cloud Walkers from ten until