Cruising for Murder: Myrtle Clover #10

Chapter Fourteen

Randolph did indeed seem at least partially lucid. He raised his glass in a mock toast as Myrtle and Miles approached. "My old friends," he said, half-standing in a courteous manner. At least he attempted the half-standing crouch, until he wobbled so much that he dropped back into the armchair again. "Good to see you. But then, I do usually run into you at night, don't I. You don't sleep either, is that it?"

Myrtle shrugged as she and Miles took the other seats in the little conversation area. "We sleep sometimes, just not others. I've found that the best thing for me to do when I can't sleep is to get up and be productive."

Randolph raised his eyebrows archly. "Really? I've found quite the opposite. I take the opportunity to rise and have another drink in the hopes of relaxing myself."

"Oh no," said Miles, sounding rather scandalized. "The doctors say that's definitely not what we should do. Alcohol disturbs our sleep patterns."

Myrtle decided to wrest the conversation from Miles, who was beginning to sound more of an old woman than she was. "Being productive might prove a good alternative for you, Randolph. I'll get up and do some rote things around the house. Sometimes, at home, I'll even walk down the street to Miles's house and we'll have a coffee."

Randolph said, "Yes, but who would I talk to? Everyone I know would be asleep. That's the problem with being an insomniac, isn't it? You keep a different schedule." He looked thoughtfully at Myrtle and Miles. "You're very lucky and I don't think you even realize it. A friend to be awake with; imagine that. I always feel like I'm haunting a house when I'm the only one awake. It's a very ghostly feeling. Perhaps that's why I turn to alcohol. Even here, even on this ship, most people turn in at some point, even the crew."

Myrtle decided to try to segue into asking questions. "You can do other things, you know. You can think. I spend a good deal of time thinking."

Randolph's mouth twisted into a smile. "Maybe you spend too much time in your own head. We can. I don't particularly like myself so I'd rather not spend too much time with my thoughts. Although it seems like I still do, no matter what. And will even do more now that Celeste is gone." He looked curiously at Myrtle. "What sorts of things do you think about? You're not trying to solve the world's problems, are you? Attain world peace; cure cancer? So ... what?"

"No, no, they're all very small problems and very local to me. How to avoid my nosy and atrocious neighbor, Erma. How to keep crabgrass from creeping into my yard and squirrels out of my birdseed. Who I'll badger to drive me to the grocery store. How to keep my tomatoes watered even when I'm out of town. On the ship, though, they've been larger problems. Who has been killing members of your family?" said Myrtle.

Randolph's eyes grew sharp and Myrtle agreed with all the family who thought he wasn't as intoxicated as he always appeared. He said, "Indeed. It's quite the puzzler, isn't it? And I've got a notion that you and your friend are very adept at solving puzzles."

Myrtle attempted and failed to look modest. Miles continued blinking owlishly at Randolph.

Randolph took a sip from the dregs of his glass and Myrtle realized that he wasn't quite ready to comment on the elimination of his family on the ship. She chose a different tack. "You said you didn't like yourself much. Why is that?"