While Tom showered, Peter got one last look at the upper deck, taking in his last few moments of vacation before he had to return to conducting and composition. He adored his job, of course, but the idea of taking a few days with no responsibilities but to drink in the moment was so attractive to him that its fleeting was extremely disappointing.

Peter stopped when he caught sight of a slender blonde in a peach sundress, a cigarette perched between crimson lips. So it WAS Meredith, he thought. Meredith caught sight of Peter immediately and walked over.

"Peter Smith-Kingsley? You're the last person I expected to see here!"

"Hello, Meredith," said Peter, all politeness, kissing Meredith on the cheek.

"Dickie told me just yesterday that he hasn't seen you in months and, low and behold, we're all on the same boat!"

Peter paused. "Dickie told you?"

"Yes. Apparently he's trying to hide out from the police. They're on his heels. They suspect that he killed Freddie. Can you believe it?"

Peter was thoroughly confused. He furrowed his brow as he tried to piece together the information that Meredith was giving him. How could Dickie be on this boat? He saw Dickie's suicide note with his own two eyes. Was someone playing a trick on both of them? He attempted to change the subject to ease some of the tension.

"I saw you talking to Tom."

"Tom who?"

"Tom Ripley. You know, my friend. The American that Dickie's parents sent to Italy to persuade him to come home."

It was Meredith's turn to be confused. "What does Tom look like?"

"Blonde. A few inches shorter than me. Wears a lot of white."

"That sounds like Dickie."

Peter contemplated telling Meredith the truth about Dickie's demise. He hated the idea of hurting someone who seemed to care about his deceased friend, but at the same time, he felt that she deserved to know.

"Meredith, I hate to be the one to tell you this, and I apologize if the information is upsetting to you. But Dickie is dead."

Meredith glared at Peter.

"Dead?"

"Yes. The truth is, Dickie did kill Freddie, shortly before killing himself. He left a suicide note."

Meredith's frustration grew as her glare became more and more fervent.

"That's very interesting considering I was just talking to him yesterday. He was standing almost right where you are now."

Peter assumed that Meredith was in denial.

"I know you don't want to accept that he's dead, Meredith. I have a hard time accepting it myself. But he was tormented. He had demons that he couldn't fight."

At this point, Meredith was livid.

"Peter, you can knock it off with that pseudo-psychology bullshit. Something suspicious is going on. You said your friend Tom is here? Maybe he knows something about it. You said you saw me talking to him. Maybe you can get him to come out here and we can sort this out."

"I'll try," said Peter, trying to maintain his composure despite his own mounting frustration. "I'll see if he's out of the shower and then bring him up."

"Thank you."

Peter walked down into the cabin and Tom was putting pomade into his hair. Peter wondered for a second whether or not to forget the entire situation. It was clear that Meredith was angry and he didn't want to stir the pot. However, Tom seemed very much at ease and, perhaps, seeing a friendly face would help her.

"Tom, Meredith would like to have a word if you have a moment."

Tom froze in his tracks. Oh shit, he thought, sifting furiously through his hair. Peter grabbed the pomade from the dresser and said "I think that's enough of that," and led Tom, who was still frozen in abject panic, up the stairs. Tom then came face to face with Meredith.

"See, Dickie, I told Peter that you were here and he didn't believe me."

Peter looked at Tom, then at Meredith, then at Tom.

"Tom, please explain to me what's going on!" he said, his voice starting to break with exasperation.

"Wait. Tom?" asked Meredith.

"Yes, the two of you were speaking just yesterday, weren't you?" Peter asked Tom in a cadence that sounded almost like begging.

"I have to get out of here," was all Tom said. He walked to the stern, waiting impatiently for the boat to dock so he could get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Peter and Meredith continued to discuss their confusion.

"Wait, are you saying that Tom has been impersonating Dickie?" asked Peter.

"I've only ever known that man as Dickie Greenleaf. Never Tom Ripley."

"Why would he lie?" asked Peter, nearly heartbroken at his lover's deception.

"Maybe he killed Dickie and Freddie."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Tom? Tom Ripley? Preposterous."

"Is it?"

Peter shook his head. No, it really isn't, he thought soberly.