Page 22 of Cruel Christmas Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #12)
T he very next morning, Wes joins Ransom, Nettie, Bess, and me just outside the Blue Water Café for breakfast.
I’ve already made two trips to the buffet—don’t judge me, we’re docked at our final port and this might be my last chance at the ship’s legendary breakfast spread—and my plate currently showcases a small mountain of Belgian waffles drowning in maple syrup, crispy bacon that could double as edible architecture, and scrambled eggs so fluffy they might achieve liftoff.
There’s also a croissant stuffed with chocolate that’s calling my name, along with fresh strawberries that I’m pretending somehow make this entire meal healthy.
But the chef’s kiss, in the most literal sense, is a new offering called crabcake Benedict, a crabcake on an English muffin with a perfectly poached egg on top, drowning in Hollandaise sauce. Heaven in every single bite.
Okay, so it’s not technically my last chance at the breakfast buffet since I actually live on this floating food paradise, but there’s something about a new port that makes me want to stock up as if I’m preparing for hibernation.
It turns out, whoever broke into Missy’s cabin didn’t have to wear a dark cloak and a hood to disguise themselves.
Ransom explained that the security cameras covering in that corridor were subjected to a localized electromagnetic interference.
Someone used a portable device to create digital snow on the footage—just long enough to move through undetected.
Ransom and Quinn were treating Missy’s old room as a part of the crime scene and were yet to finish sweeping through it.
The kicker is, they think whoever did this made their move the night we had the ship-wide false alarm.
Talk about taking advantage of a smoky situation.
But the conversation has since moved on and Nettie is currently filling the captain in on our latest, not greatest, misadventure.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you get escorted out of Edinburgh Castle by men in kilts wielding walkie-talkies,” Nettie announces to our little group while raising her coffee mug as if she were conducting a toast. The brisk Highland air bites at my cheeks as we huddle on the deck of the Emerald Queen .
“Not our finest moment—but definitely one for the scrapbook.”
Bess snorts into her cappuccino. “Nettie asked Santa if the dungeons had good acoustics for screaming. What did she expect?”
“Research has its risks.” I shrug, watching the morning mist curl above the water like ghostly fingers.
The scent of salt and pine mingles with the rich aroma of our coffee as we stare out at the landscape of Invergordon, Scottland, where the ship is currently docked for a day of exploration.
It’s our last stop before a day at sea and then our return to Greenwich.
“Besides, after they kicked us out,” I continue, “Ransom gave us the most romantic tour of Edinburgh imaginable.”
Nettie nods to Wes. “And by romantic, she means following Holly and Alec through cobblestone alleyways while taking notes on their body language.”
Bess nods in agreement. “You spent half the evening whispering theories about insider trading while other couples were kissing under streetlamps.”
“I multitask.” I give a quick wink Ransom’s way. We more than made up for any stolen kisses we missed out on once we got back to the ship. In fact, we called in room service and never left the cabin until this morning. Let’s just say, we didn’t need the Queen’s Theater to keep us entertained.
The man is a beast.
I take another sip of coffee, savoring the warmth that spreads through my chest before turning to Nettie. “And I think you enjoyed our little spy mission. I saw you taking photos with your phone hidden in your scarf.”
“Surveillance documentation,” she sniffs at the thought. “And speaking of documentation, are we ready for our Loch Ness adventure? That sea serpent might prove elusive to the rest of the world, but it hasn’t met anyone like Nettie Butterworth.”
“Ha!” Bess laughs. “You can say that again.” She takes a hasty bite out of her waffle as if to prove her point.
And the look in her eyes suggests she’s bracing for what comes next.
And what comes next might actually be handcuffs this time—that or being swallowed whole by a sea serpent the size of the Emerald Queen .
“You better believe it, Toots.” Nettie steals a slice of bacon off my plate. “That monster won’t escape my clutches.”
Bess exchanges a look with me that speaks volumes.
We’ve known Nettie long enough to recognize when she’s fixated on something—be it eligible bachelors, all-you-can-eat buffets, or now, apparently, cryptozoological phenomena.
And believe me, when Nettie gets fixated on something, Homeland Security couldn’t redirect her attention with a SWAT team and free cocktails.
In fact, Nettie’s fixations typically end with apology letters, restraining orders, or commemorative t-shirts—sometimes all three.
“Well”—Ransom holds up his own steaming mug—“the bus leaves in twenty minutes. Quinn will be handling security while I’m gone.” He nods my way. “Any progress with our friendly ghosts?”
“Joy and Dash have been suspiciously quiet this morning,” I say, keeping my voice low. No need to advertise my supernatural consultants to the entire ship. “I think they’re still processing what Theo and Ginger told us.”
“About Holly and Alec?” Wes’ voice drops to match mine.
I nod his way. “Let’s see what the day brings. Maybe Nessie has some insights about suspicious deaths and stolen laptops.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Bess deadpans. “Lake monsters are notorious for their detective skills. That’s why Scotland Yard keeps a kiddie pool in their forensics lab.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my accidental career as a corpse collector, it’s that monsters come in all forms, and the most dangerous ones aren’t hiding in misty lochs, but mingling among us in designer clothes and perfectly rehearsed smiles.
Laughter roars from across the way where the captain’s old classmates are enjoying their breakfast. Someone in that crowd knows something. And I’m willing to bet that someone in that crowd is a killer.