Page 18 of Cruel Christmas Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #12)
T he Emerald Queen of the Seas has transformed from merely festive to a full-on Christmas fever dream overnight. The late afternoon sky is darkened by a swarm of purple clouds, the chill factor is real, and the scent of fresh grilled burgers does its best to amp up our appetites.
It’s day six at sea and Tinsley has organized yet another fun Christmas competition on board.
Every available surface sparkles with tinsel, glitter, and twinkle lights—even the life preservers have been adorned with bows like nautical wreaths.
Giant nutcrackers stand at every doorway as if they were the new additions to the security team with expressions that suggest they’ve seen things no wooden soldier should ever have to witness.
The air is scented like Christmas itself with—cinnamon, pine, gingerbread, and a hint of barely-contained panic from the crew trying to maintain holiday cheer at sea.
But before I can fully appreciate the decorating crew’s commitment to festive sensory overload, I’m still reeling from Joy and Dash’s urgent message back in Belfast.
“It’s about my accident,” Joy had whispered as her ethereal form flickered in the rain. “I remember now. The night I went off the cliff.”
Of course, I asked for more details.
“There were headlights behind me—coming up too fast. Then my car was forced off the road. I remember a flash of teal just before I went over. A teal car was there that night.”
Dash nodded grimly. “Missy may have found out something she shouldn’t have. That might be why she was killed.”
The revelation hit me like a tidal wave, but before I could ask more questions, they vanished, leaving me with another piece of the puzzle. Not quite the smoking gun, but definitely a teal-colored clue.
And now, here we are at sea in the middle of the afternoon, with a killer on board and a Christmas obstacle course about to begin.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Tinsley’s voice booms over the loudspeaker, interrupting my murderous musings. “Welcome to the Emerald Queen’s first annual Christmas Decathlon!”
The main pool deck has been transformed into a holiday-themed obstacle course that looks like Santa’s workshop collided with an extreme sports competition.
Inflatable candy canes create a slalom course, fake snow blankets balance beams, and what appears to be an eggnog slip-n-slide leads to a wall of wrapped presents that participants must climb.
The whole spectacle is framed by thousands of twinkle lights and oversized ornaments hanging from wires strung up above.
“The grand prize,” Tinsley continues at the top of her lungs, “is an exclusive dinner for two in our Sky Lounge—fine dining, dancing, and a breathtaking view of the Irish night sky. Nothing but pure romance for the lucky winner and their plus-one!”
Ransom wraps his arms around my waist from behind. “Don’t worry,” he whispers with his breath warm against my ear. “I’m bringing home the W.” He seals the promise with a kiss that makes me temporarily forget about murder investigations and ghostly revelations.
“Not if I can help it,” Wes interrupts, looking surprisingly casual in athletic wear rather than his captain’s duds. “Trixie, if I win, will you come to dinner with me tonight?”
“With a view of an Irish night sky? I couldn’t say no.” The words slip out before I realize Ransom is still standing right there with his expression morphing into something between amusement and territorial concern.
“Wes, you do realize you’re hitting on my wife right in front of me?” Ransom asks, although there’s no real heat behind the words. My guess is he’s resigned to it by now.
“Consider it an incentive to win,” Wes shoots back with a grin.
Bess sidles up next to me. “Nothing like a little competition between alpha males to spice up a day at sea.”
“Should we be selling tickets?” Nettie adds. “Two handsome men battling for your dining companionship. It’s like The Bachelor: High Seas Edition .”
“Except I’ve already handed out my final rose,” I remind them, squeezing Ransom’s hand.
But judging by the look in Wes’ eyes, that little floral detail doesn’t seem to matter as the competition kicks off with a flurry of activity.
Tinsley reads off the rules. “Participants must first bob for ornaments in ice water!”
Nettie honks out a laugh at the thought. “Nothing says Merry Christmas like hypothermia!”
Tinsley waves her off before getting back to the task at hand. “Then you’ll need to race through the candy cane slalom while balancing a tray of Christmas cookies!”
The word cookies rings out like a happy chorus all around the deck, and suddenly I have a craving for the confectionary treat.
“Thirty-five dollars says Ransom wipes out on the eggnog slide,” Nettie wagers.
“No bet,” Bess replies. “I’m saving my money for bail when you get arrested for senior citizen cage fighting.”
“One time!” Nettie protests. “That was one time!”
A horn goes off and the contestants go hog while wrestling with oversized candy canes and Christmas trees alike.
While Ransom and Wes battle it out on the obstacle course—both looking far too handsome for their Christmas britches while doing it—I spot Holly seated alone at a table for two near the edge of the deck.
She’s watching the competition with a wistful expression, and something tells me her mind is a million miles away.
This looks like the perfect chance for a little investigative work, so I boot-scoot my way over, posthaste.
“Mind if I join you?” I ask, sliding into the empty chair across from her. From this angle, I can still keep an eye on the competition, where Ransom is currently wiping cookie crumbs from his shirt after a particularly spectacular collision with a gingerbread house.
“Please do,” Holly says, seeming genuinely pleased for the company. Her hair is up in a messy bun and her cheeks look sun-kissed, although I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the icy weather.
We watch as across the deck, Alec and Theo have both made it to the present-climbing wall, each approaching it with very different strategies. Alec methodically tests each handhold before proceeding, while Theo simply hurls himself at the wall like a Christmas-crazed spider monkey.
“I see Alec and Theo are warring it out,” I observe casually. “I bet they’d both love to take you to dinner.”
She laughs at the thought. Her voice rises high and light, but I can tell it’s tinged with something a lot more complex. “Well, romantically there’s only one contender.”
“Alec?” I ask, hopeful, while thinking of Joy and Dash’s matchmaking efforts.
“ Theo ,” she corrects, inching back as if I’ve suggested something scandalous.
My heart sinks for my ghostly friends—and truthfully, for Alec and Holly.
“But you and Alec seem so natural together,” I tell her. “I’d go as far as saying you look like such a wonderful couple.”
“That’s because we were married to best friends,” she explains, twisting her napkin between perfectly manicured fingers. “And that’s exactly why we could never be together.”
“I’m not sure I’m following.” I glance up as a cheer erupts from the crowd. Ransom has made it through the eggnog slide without falling, however, his clothes now have a distinctly dairy-based sheen.
Holly leans forward as she frowns my way.
“People aren’t replaceable. Or at least I’d like to think so.
” She opens her mouth and then closes it before sighing.
“When my mother died, my father married her best friend—if you can believe it. I never felt so betrayed in my life. Of course, Joy felt betrayed right along with me.”
Interesting. I file away this piece of family history, wondering if it explains more than just her reluctance toward Alec.
“That woman ended up dying as well and my father married another woman still,” Holly continues, and I can’t help but note her tone is somewhere between bitter and resigned.
“I guess he didn’t have true love like I thought he did with my mother, but I’d like to think she was special to him even though he didn’t seem to mind finding someone else to fill her shoes—again and again.
Not that either of those women could even come close. ”
Across the deck, Wes is scaling the present wall with surprising agility for a ship’s captain, while Ransom scrambles behind him like his masculinity depends on it.
My husband’s competitive streak is in full force as two grown men battle for the privilege of dining with me, and I’m torn between being flattered and wondering how I became the prize in this holiday gladiator match.
Although I have to admit, watching Ransom work up a sweat while fighting for my company does make me look forward to kissing his bumps and bruises later tonight.
Now where were we? Oh yes, Holly’s belief in true love was tainted by her father’s serial brides.
“I can see your dilemma.” I nod, turning my attention back her way. I think on it for a minute, trying to find a delicate way to phrase my next question. “Holly, if there was no Joy or Dash, could you see yourself with Alec? You know, romantically?”
“Oh yes,” she doesn’t hesitate with the answer, and something in her eyes lights up. “We’d be perfect for one another.” She laughs at the thought.
The moment the words leave her mouth, her hand clamps over it as if she were trying to physically take them back. “I have to go,” she mumbles through her fingers, then practically bolts from the table, leaving her half-finished hot chocolate behind.
I sigh, watching as she darts in the direction of the elevators. I guess I’ve got my answer. She wants it. She’s just fighting it like mad.
A thunderous cheer erupts from the crowd, drawing my attention back to the competition.
The final challenge involves shooting mini-marshmallows through a wreath-shaped target while standing on a rotating platform surrounded by fans blowing fake snow.
It’s ridiculous, festive, and absolutely on-brand for Tinsley’s idea of holiday fun.
And remarkably, it’s down to just Ransom and Wes in the competition.
“Good grief,” I mutter as I take in the sight.
Ransom takes his turn first, landing four out of five marshmallows through the target with the precision of someone who’s clearly spent too much time in firearms training.
He steps off the platform looking smug and just a little bit snowy—and far too sexy for it to ever be safe.
A few catcalls go off in the crowd, and I can’t blame the women.
I’m half-tempted to howl my head off myself.
Wes is up next and his expression is one of intense concentration. He nails the first four shots easily, tying with Ransom. The entire pool deck falls silent as he lines up his final marshmallow. He takes a deep breath, adjusts for the wind from the fans, and...
Bullseye . Five out of five!
Oh my word!
“And we have a winner!” Tinsley announces and her voice is as giddy as a teenager. Ten bucks says she thinks she’ll be dining in the stratosphere tonight. “Captain Weston Crawford has won the exclusive dinner for two in the Sky Lounge!”
Bess and Nettie practically teleport to my side as I make my way toward the competitors.
“Well, this will be awkward,” Nettie sings with glee.
“Like watching a car crash in slow motion,” Bess agrees as she nods my way. “Except the car is your marriage, and the crash is dinner with your husband’s rival.”
“You two are enjoying this way too much,” I mutter.
“Wes and Ransom meet us halfway, both looking slightly winded but otherwise intact. Wes is smiling as if he just unwrapped the biggest present under the tree instead of a dinner reservation with little ol’ me.
“Congratulations,” I tell him. “I’m genuinely impressed by your marshmallow marksmanship.”
“The sea is in my blood,” Wes says modestly. “Good aim comes with the territory.”
“I let him win,” Ransom says without missing a beat, although his competitive scowl suggests otherwise.
“Of course, you did,” I coo as I pat his arm with a touch of sympathy. “And I guess I’m going to dinner with another man.”
Ransom growls at the thought, which only makes Bess and Nettie howl with laughter all the more.
“It’s just dinner,” I remind him, although I can’t help but enjoy his jealousy just a tiny bit. It is nice to be wanted.
“With candlelight, dancing, and a view,” Wes adds, not helping the situation at all.
Before Ransom can respond, Wes’ phone bleats with an incoming message, and judging by his sudden frown, I know exactly what it is before he even turns the screen our way.
It’s another cryptic text from the Gossip Ghost.
Spotted: A captain playing games while danger lurks. The crown may have gone to your head, but the sword hangs by a thread. Who’s next on the chopping block? Only the Ghost knows for sure. Tick-tock, merry murderers!
‘Tis the season to be deadly,
The Dean of Dirt
XOXO, Gossip Ghost
And just like that, our momentary holiday revelry evaporates like snow in summer.
Suddenly, I realize this Christmas competition was never about winning dinner.
It was about determining who would be alive to eat it.