Page 12 of Cruel Christmas Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #12)

Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!

H ello, Trixie!

I’m currently on a Christmas cruise through the North Sea (not nearly as glamorous as yours!) and frankly, it’s a bit dull.

My family is glued to their phones, and I’ve finished all my novels.

After reading your blog, I had what I thought was a brilliant idea.

What if I staged my own disappearance for a few hours?

Nothing dangerous—just hiding in the spa while everyone panics a little.

I could reappear claiming amnesia or something equally dramatic!

My husband says this is a felony and perhaps grounds for divorce, but I think he’s overreacting. Thoughts?

Bored and Plotting in the North Sea

Dear Bored and Plotting,

Oh my stars and sugar plums, NO! Your husband isn’t overreacting—he’s being remarkably restrained!

What you’re describing isn’t a harmless prank but a full-blown international incident that would involve multiple coast guards, possibly military vessels, and enough paperwork to deforest a small country.

Instead of a fake disappearance (which, yes, is indeed a felony), try introducing some mystery to your cruise in ways that won’t result in handcuffs—organize a holiday-themed scavenger hunt for your family, challenge everyone to solve a Christmas riddle each day, or simply announce that you’ve spotted suspicious behavior from the cabin steward and invite your family to help you investigate (discreetly, of course).

If all else fails, the ship’s Christmas festivities should provide plenty of distraction. Nothing livens up a dull voyage like watching your husband attempt the “Twelve Days of Christmas” karaoke challenge after too much eggnog.

Trust me on this one—the only disappearing you should do is making those feelings of boredom vanish!

XOXO Trixie

The formal dining room hums with satisfied sighs and clinking crystal as we finish what might be the most decadent meal I’ve experienced since—well, since last night.

Tonight’s feast started with Maryland crab cakes so buttery and delicate they tasted like the Chesapeake Bay had been transformed into edible gold coins.

The prime rib that followed melted on my tongue, perfectly medium-rare with a peppercorn crust that made me consider proposing marriage to the chef.

Although that might have been awkward with Ransom sitting right there.

And the sides! Roasted garlic mashed potatoes whipped to cloud-like perfection, asparagus glistening with butter and lemon, and Yorkshire puddings so light they practically floated off the plate.

Of course, we ended with desserts that would make angels weep—chocolate lava cake oozing molten decadence, crème br?lée with a crackling sugar top that shattered like glass when tapped, and a berry pavlova that somehow managed to be both crisp and marshmallowy. It was indeed pavlova perfection.

Ransom had joined us for most of dinner, but was called away during dessert for a security emergency.

And now it’s just Bess, Nettie, and I as we roll out of the dining room in a food-induced stupor, like a trio of walking testimonials for the exact reason why elastic waistbands or dresses without waistlines should be considered essential cruise ship safety equipment.

“I think I’ve died and gone to caloric heaven,” I mutter, wondering if this silver formal number that Elodie shoved me into has an expandable waistline—beyond its expandable waistline.

Elodie does all of my shopping for me and thankfully sends up A-line dresses that accommodate nicely anything and everything I’m looking to inhale.

Nettie pats her belly. “If this is death, then bring on the Grim Reaper.”

Bess averts her eyes. “Don’t say that twice around this one.” She hitches her thumb my way.

I’d take offense, but let’s face it, she’s not wrong.

We wander past the ship’s casino, where the distinctive sounds of slot machines chirp and chime like mechanical birds.

It’s dimly lit, but the flash of neon colors lights up the expanse like an electric rainbow.

The air smells of expensive cologne, the hopes of winning, and the faint disappointment of people who should have quit while they were ahead.

Crystal chandeliers cast a warm golden glow over green felt tables and roulette wheels, while cocktail servers glide between patrons like tropical fish in a reef full of gamblers.

That’s when I spot Ransom and Wes near the entrance, deep in conversation, and we speed their way.

“Well, well, hello to two of our favorite men,” I say, wrapping my arms around Ransom and without hesitation he offers up a lingering kiss that reminds me I’ve saved room for one more dessert. Him .

“How was the emergency?” I ask when we finally come up for air.

“A misunderstanding in the comedy lounge,” he replies with a frown. “All parties involved offered to sleep it off.”

Wes nods in agreement. “That’s what I like to hear. The last thing I want is to fill the brig with bodies.”

“I get it,” Nettie pipes up. “You’d rather fill the morgue.”

Bess knocks her elbow into hers with enough force to disturb the gray tumbleweed sitting on her bestie’s head. “Nettie, sometimes I think your brain takes vacations while your mouth keeps working overtime.”

“What?” Nettie looks genuinely confused. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.” She pauses for a moment. “Actually,” she adds with a mischievous gleam, “I’d rather fill my bedroom with bodies. Warm ones. That breathe. Of the male variety.”

“And there it is.” Bess sighs. “The real reason you insisted on bringing that What Happens on the Cruise Stays on the Cruise t-shirt.”

Wes clears his throat with just a hint of a smile. “Would you all like to join my classmates in the casino? Tinsley’s putting on a private party. I provided chips for everyone to start with.”

“How generous,” Ransom says with a wry smile. “Nothing says class reunion quite like subsidized gambling and potential financial ruin.”

Bess nods. “That’s either the mark of a generous host or someone who knows the house always wins.”

“Chips from the captain himself?” Nettie winks at Wes. “Well, aren’t you the generous one. I should warn you, though. When I play with a man’s chips, I play until we’re both satisfied with the outcome.”

Wes gives a good-natured laugh, his cheeks coloring slightly. “I’ll take that as a vote of confidence in my generosity,” he says, diplomatically steering us three steps into the casino. “Shall we see what Santa’s gambling den has to offer?”

Indeed, the casino has been transformed into Santa’s gambling den.

Red and green garland drapes across the ceiling, while miniature Christmas trees adorn each gaming table.

Slot machines wear tiny Santa hats, and the dealers sport elf costumes that tell me Tinsley has a sadistic streak when it comes to staff uniforms. Even the poker chips have been swapped out for red, green, and gold holiday-themed versions.

“Looks like Lady Luck dressed up as Mrs. Claus this year,” Bess says with a laugh.

“And she’s been hitting the eggnog a little hard, too,” Nettie says while snatching a candy cane from a passing server. “But I wholeheartedly approve.”

“Me, too,” Bess says.

“Me three,” I add. “I’ve always had a soft spot for holiday décor. My old attic and my credit card could attest to that.”

We settle at a blackjack table where Ransom immediately gets dealt a twenty-one. Wes leans against the rail, watching the game but he’s clearly distracted.

“I was just asking Ransom about the case,” he says, keeping his voice low. “He’s spoken with each of my classmates in the last two days and still hasn’t gleaned anything useful.”

Both men turn to look at me, and suddenly I feel like I’m under a spotlight.

“Well, Detective Troublefield Baxter,” Ransom says with a glint in his eye. “How is your case going?”

My mouth falls open like a trapdoor. “How did you know I was investigating?”

“You’re my wife,” he says, raising a brow. “I have a bead on you.”

He’s got more than a bead on me. I wink his way and enjoy watching his lips twitch with wicked intent.

“Well,” I hedge, accepting a card from the dealer, “I’m not investigating, but I did run into a few people at the Christmas Market today.”

Both Bess and Ransom hit blackjack again. The dealer looks as if he’s considering a career change.

“I ran into two ghosts, actually,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “Joy and Dash. Turns out, they’re the deceased spouses of Alec and Holly.”

“I could have told you that,” Wes says, taking a seat and shuffling his chips. “Great people. Please tell them I said hello. It was a horrible tragedy to lose them both so young.”

“But you didn’t tell us,” Bess points out, raking in her winnings.

Ransom nods. “She had to hear it from the other side.”

Wes averts his eyes at Ransom’s comment. “What else did they say?” he asks, looking genuinely interested and warm-hearted that his old friends are joining the voyage with us—albeit from the beyond.

I lean his way. “They’re trying to set Holly and Alec up as a couple.”

Wes blinks back in surprise as his brows lift toward his hairline. “Wow, that’s something.” He ticks his head to the side as he tries to process this. “You know, I saw Holly getting close with Theo Frost at dinner. I thought maybe they were a couple.”

“Who’s Theo?” I ask, trying to keep track of the ever-expanding cast of suspects.

“One of my buddies. He’s a hotshot criminal defense attorney now.

In fact, he’s right over there.” Wes nods to the corner near the bar where, sure enough, Holly is speaking to a handsome dark-haired man.

He has a nice tan that suggests either wealth or frequent escapes from Maine winters.

He’s donned a camel-colored suit that screams designer, and his teeth practically glow in the dim light.

Wait a minute…

“Hey, I think I know him,” I say, placing my cards down and nodding. “I recognize him from the night of the murder. He was going at it with Missy. And that conversation didn’t look very friendly.”

Ransom zeroes his baby blues on the man and growls.

“I’m not surprised.” Wes tips his head. “Missy seemed to have that effect on people.” He glances back at Holly and does a double take.

“And there’s Alec.” He nods just to the left of Holly and Theo, where Alec appears deep in conversation with an adorable redhead who’s laughing at everything he says—and I happen to recognize that redhead as Ginger Garland. “Holly and Alec are two of the best.”

“Now they would look cute together,” Bess offers.

“Not as cute as I’d look with the blackjack dealer,” Nettie says with a wink that makes the poor man fumble the cards. “I’ve always had a thing for men in bowties and green tights.”

The fashion misstep is true. Tinsley is ruthless.

Ransom turns my way. “What did Holly say about Missy?”

“Nothing, actually.” I realize as I think back to our conversation over chocolate royalty. “We were interrupted.”

“Or maybe she was avoiding the subject,” Nettie says while making her eyebrows do the worm. “Don’t rule her out just yet. It’s always the innocent ones that are the most dangerous. Take my third husband—looked like a choir boy, turned out to be the devil with tax returns.”

I mouth the word sorry her way before nodding to Wes. “Why don’t you tell us about Missy?” I suggest in hopes the captain will offer up a morsel that will morph into a clue.

Wes sighs as if he were weighing where to begin. “Missy was complicated. She started out as a celebrity gossip columnist who reinvented herself as a social media influencer and podcaster. Her show, Spilling the Tea with Mistletoe , had millions of followers.”

“Sounds charming,” Bess says dryly.

“She earned millions,” Wes continues, “often by threatening to reveal secrets to her followers.”

“Blackmail with a blue check mark,” Ransom says, and judging by his expression, he is not amused.

“I hate to say this, but she was the original mean girl,” Wes admits. “Brilliant, witty, and incredibly charming when she wanted to be, but she never outgrew that cruel streak from high school. She could make you laugh and destroy your life in the same breath.”

“Sounds like my ex-mother-in-law,” I say.

Wes gives a mournful smile. “Back in school, she was the queen bee of Carrington Academy,” he adds. “She ruled through fear and intimidation. She actually created the original Carrington Confidential newsletters that inspired our anonymous texter.”

I gasp just hearing it. “She’s the OG Gossip Ghost! No wonder someone wanted her silenced.”

Wes blows out a breath. “Let’s just say, she knew where the dead bodies were hidden long before she became one.”

Ransom shuffles his chips. “So, who’s next on your suspect list?”

Just as I’m about to answer, a light scream erupts near the bar. We look over to see someone has spilled a bright red cocktail onto Ginger Garland’s cream blouse. She’s frantically dabbing at the stain, laughing it off even as she leans into Alec’s arms for support.

My eyes dart to Holly, who’s glaring at the scene as if she’d like to spill something stronger than a drink. And that’s when I remember that hard look Alec gave Theo when I saw him comforting Holly in the Star Lounge after Missy’s death.

There is definitely some tension in this friend group that goes beyond typical prep school drama.

“I’m curious to hear what Ginger has to say,” I decide, watching the redhead nestle closer to Alec while Holly fumes.

Joy and Dash might be playing matchmakers from beyond the grave, but from where I’m standing, they’ve got some stiff competition among the living.

And in my experience, competition can be murder.