“Lucy’s fish chowder. I followed her recipe, but I think she must have left something out. Do you think it smells funny?”

It had passed smelling funny, Stephanie decided. It was more in the category of frightening. “What are those little round things floating on top?”

Ace stared into the pot. “They look like fish eyes.”

“Omigod.”

“You think I should have cut off the heads before I put the fish in the hot water?”

Stephanie clapped her hand over her mouth to squelch the laughter. She composed herself as best she could. “Nah, why waste a perfectly good fish head? This will be fine. We’ll… um, strain it before we serve it.”

“We might not have to do that,” Ace said. “Most of the folks on this cruise are pretty old. They probably can’t see so good. We could tell them they’re beans or something.”

Ivan came halfway down the ladder and stopped in midstride, immediately backing up a step. “What are you cooking down here, rubber boots? It smells like the fish-processing plant in Rockland on a bad day.”

“You think you can do better?”

He was sure he couldn’t do any worse. “I’m not really an expert at this,” he said gently, “but I think if you reduced the heat somehow, so it wasn’t boiling so furiously…” He held his breath and hoped the fumes wouldn’t peel the varnish off the walls.

“I think you’re right.” Stephanie gave the pot a clonk with her wooden spoon. “We’re going to reduce the heat right away.” She looked at Ace. “How about turning down the wood?”

Ace stared at her, his eyes hidden behind the silver-black lenses. “That’s the problem. You see, the wood control dial is broken.”

Stephanie looked at Ivan. “The wood control dial is broken,” she repeated with an absolutely straight face.

Ivan nodded. “Well, that explains it.” He inched his way back up the ladder, wondering what he’d done to deserve this. He’d cheated on his U.S. history exam in seventh grade, he’d wheedled Mary Ann Kulecza out of her panties in eighth grade, and he’d padded charitable contributions on his income tax. Now it was all coming home to roost. God had sent him Stephanie Lowe.