Page 23 of Cruel Christmas Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #12)

T he shuttle from the ship to Loch Ness rumbles along winding Highland roads, each turn revealing vistas so dramatic and beautiful they look photoshopped.

Mist hangs between emerald peaks like cotton candy, occasionally parting to reveal the slate-blue lake that mirrors the sky.

Our guide, a lanky man named Fergus with a tartan scarf and enthusiasm cranked to eleven, keeps up a steady stream of commentary about clan warfare, whiskey distillation, and increasingly improbable Nessie sightings.

A ripple of laughter travels through the shuttle as Bess drops her head into her hands.

Although I will admit, Taco Bell doesn’t sound half bad right about now.

“Some people claim the monster is a marine reptile that survived extinction,” Fergus continues, undeterred. “Others believe it’s a giant sturgeon, or perhaps something otherworldly .”

“Like a ghost?” I muse under my breath, thinking of Joy and Dash.

“More like tourist-bureau propaganda,” Ransom whispers in my ear, his breath warm against my skin and I wholeheartedly approve.

The coach lurches to a stop in a gravel parking lot, and there it is—Loch Ness in all its mysterious glory.

The vast expanse of inky water stretches between steep, forested hills with its surface occasionally rippling in the wind.

We hop out and I take in a deep breath of fresh Scottish air.

It smells earthy and primal, with undertones of pine and peat moss, and maybe mold.

And despite the clusters of tourists snapping photos, there is something so very ancient and undisturbed about this place.

“Remember to keep your eyes peeled for Nessie,” Fergus calls out after us. “She’s shy but dangerously curious, just like my ex-wife,” he says, evoking a laugh from all of us.

Our group quickly scatters with Nettie leading the charge with her knockoff opera glasses from the ship’s gift shop already pressed to her face.

“Oh! OH! ” Her shriek cuts through the peaceful scene before we’ve walked ten steps from the bus.

“There she is! I saw her! Right there!” She points frantically at ripples in the water, and soon enough everyone in the vicinity is squinting in that direction and whipping out their cameras.

A middle-aged man in a Rangers football jersey chokes on his flask while Fergus looks simultaneously irritated and hopeful.

“False alarm.” The guide shakes his head. “That’s just a duck.”

“More like a duck-shaped monster,” Nettie insists, not lowering her opera glasses for a second. “You people are so closed-minded.”

“This is going to be a long day,” Bess mutters.

“Think of it as performance art,” I suggest with a shrug. “Very loud, very enthusiastic performance art.”

“I know this performance by heart,” Bess says, closing her eyes a moment too long. “Act three includes an international incident and confiscated passports.”

I offer a commiserating nod. “And the grand finale typically requires bail money.”

We make our way down a pebbled path to the shoreline, where a cluster of food stalls has been set up in a small clearing. The tantalizing scent of fried fish and warm pastries fills the air, making my stomach growl in anticipation.

I lean into Ransom. “You know, on a cruise ship you’re practically required to eat every twenty minutes—okay, fine, every fifteen—and here it’s been forty minutes straight without sustenance hitting our lips. Now that’s perfectly criminal.”

“Speaking of criminal,” he says. “Look who’s here.” He lifts a finger toward a familiar-looking group already huddled around picnic tables.

Wes winces at the sight of his friends. “I think I’ll leave them be for a while.”

“How about lunch first, then the investigation?” Bess suggests, eyeing the food stalls as hungrily as I am.

“You read my mind,” I agree.

We navigate the small but enthusiastic crowd of tourists, eventually each clutching our chosen Scottish delicacies: a paper cone of haggis with neeps and tatties—mashed turnips and potatoes for Bess (“When in Rome,” she shrugs), flaky meat pies for Ransom, Wes, and me, and a luridly green concoction labeled Nessie’s Tail Milkshake for Nettie.

“Tastes like mint,” she says with relief while taking a long slurp through her straw. “With chocolate ‘scales’ on top. Delicious!”

“Prehistoric monster scales—the secret ingredient Julia Child never told us about,” Bess quips, eyeing Nettie’s concoction.

Finding an empty picnic table proves challenging, but we eventually spot one shockingly close to the lake.

And as we settle in with our food, I can’t help but notice how the loch stretches out before us, vast and mysterious.

Despite the tourists and the food stalls, there’s something timeless about this place—as though we’re all just temporary visitors in a landscape that holds ancient secrets.

And believe me, the irony isn’t lost on me.

In fact, it’s thick enough to spread on toast. I’ve sailed across an ocean to visit the champion of hide-and-seek while playing a losing game of truth-or-consequences back on the ship with Wes’ classmates.

“So,” Wes says, leaning across the table with his voice dropping a notch in volume. “Should we go over what we know so far?”

“About Nessie?” Nettie interjects with far too much enthusiasm while scanning the water with her opera glasses. “I knew it! She only appears to those pure of heart, and lucky for me, I’ve been practicing.”

Bess laughs. “There’s not enough practice in the world. Nettie, your dating history alone would send Nessie swimming for the deepest part of the loch. If purity of heart is the requirement, we might as well pack up and head back to the ship. The monster is safe for another century.”

Wes ticks his head. “I was thinking more along the lines of going over what we know so far about the murder investigation.”

In the span of one sentence, we’ve switched from tracking Scotland’s most elusive beast to its runner-up—a killer with access to cyanide and a Christmas party invitation— a lateral move in the predator department. I take a bite of my pie—deliciously savory with a hint of rosemary—and lean in.

“Let’s review the suspects,” I say.

Meanwhile, Nettie has taken off and somehow befriended a family with young children. And now she’s leading them in an impromptu Nessie-spotting expedition along the shoreline. Her voice carries across the water. “Keep your eyes peeled for bubbles! That’s the first sign!”

“I think the Gossip Ghost situation is the most interesting development,” Ransom says, sliding closer. “Three phones, three conspirators?—”

“And only one sent that message about Missy’s murder,” Wes finishes. “The other two have gone silent since she died.”

“So a member of our ghostly trio went rogue,” I muse.

“Possibly after becoming a killer,” Bess points out.

“Exactly,” Wes confirms.

“Let’s talk about what Ginger told us,” I say, keeping my voice low. “About Holly and Alec.”

Bess nods, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Their history is complicated.”

“Joy and Dash’s deaths were such tragedies,” I say, thinking about that poor ghostly couple currently haunting their way into my heart. “And now there’s Missy...”

“Ginger mentioned that Missy had dirt on both of them,” Ransom adds quietly. “It does make you wonder.”

“Especially since Holly and Alec are now thick as thieves,” I add. “But according to Ginger, they both had secrets Missy was threatening to expose.”

“Like what?” Wes asks, intrigued.

“For Holly, it was creative bookkeeping at her charity foundation,” I explain. “Apparently, she’s been using donor money to bail her son out of gambling debts.”

“And Alec’s company has allegedly been cooking the books for years,” Ransom adds. “Insider trading that would bring down his empire if exposed.”

I hold up a finger. “But both Joy and Dash deny any of those rumors targeting their old spouses.”

“And don’t forget,” Bess chimes in, “that Ginger herself admitted Missy was threatening her real estate business somehow, though she was suspiciously vague about the details.”

“Plus, Theo was seen arguing with Missy the night of the murder,” I remind them.

“And someone broke into Missy’s cabin and cleared out all her belongings,” Wes says. “Including her laptop and phone.” He shoots Ransom a wry look.

Ransom growls back at him. “The thief was nothing short of a professional. I can assure you my department is on this.”

“So we have three Gossip Ghosts, multiple suspects with strong motives, and a burglar who wanted Missy’s digital devices,” I summarize. “What a tangled web we?—”

My amateur detective monologue is interrupted by a piercing shriek from the shoreline, and we all whip around to see Nettie standing knee-deep in the loch, pointing frantically farther down the lake.

“THERE! RIGHT THERE! I TOLD YOU SHE WAS REAL!”

A crowd quickly gathers at the water’s edge, each one of them with their cameras poised to document the event. Our poor tour guide, Fergus, looks simultaneously horrified and hopeful—torn between concern for his water-logged passenger and the possibility of a career-making Nessie sighting.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Bess mutters, already on her feet. “She’s going to catch pneumonia.”

We abandon our lunch and hurry toward the shoreline where Nettie stands with her holiday sweater darkened with water and a look of absolute wonder on her face as she addresses a growing circle of curious tourists.

“I’m telling you—it was RIGHT THERE!” She goes on with all the enthusiasm necessary when spotting a sea monster. “Dark green, smooth, and much larger than any fish. She glided past me like she was saying hello!”

“Mrs. Butterworth,” Fergus shouts over to her with surprising professional restraint, “the loch does contain some impressive wildlife, but perhaps what you felt was a pike?”

“I’ve been fishing since the Eisenhower administration, young man,” Nettie cuts in. “I know the difference between a pike and something extraordinary. And what just brushed against my legs was definitely in the extraordinary category.”

The tourists begin to murmur—some skeptical, others envious that Nettie might have experienced what they’d all secretly hoped for while visiting Loch Ness.

“Did you get a photo?” someone calls out.

“It moved too fast,” Nettie shouts back. “Like my second husband toward the exit when the dinner check arrived.”

A round of appreciative laughter circles the vicinity as Bess and I reach the water’s edge and Bess holds out a tartan scarf like a rescue line.

“Come on, Jacques Cousteau,” she calls out to her bestie. “You’ve made your discovery. Now let’s get you dried off before you start growing gills.”

“Fine, fine,” Nettie concedes, wading back to shore with surprising dignity for someone whose pants are suctioned to her legs. “But I know what I felt.”

“I believe you felt something,” I say, helping her up the slippery bank.

“Something that wasn’t a fish,” Nettie adds firmly. “Or a log. Or my imagination.”

We make our way back to our table, leaving damp footprints in our wake, and Nettie’s face is flushed with excitement rather than embarrassment. Come to think of it, I don’t think the word embarrassment is in her lexicon.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she says as she stretches her shoulders back. “I’m joining a very exclusive club of people who’ve had a personal Nessie encounter. This is definitely going on my dating profile.”

“Before or after you dry your shoes?” Bess asks with a laugh.

“Details, details.” Nettie waves her off, then stops suddenly. “Do you think the gift shop sells I Touched Nessie and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt souvenirs? Because I need at least seven.”

Ransom tips his head at her. “If they don’t, they’re missing out.”

“Nettie, are you okay?” Wes asks while getting a better look at our dripping-wet friend and she quickly assures him she’s right as rain.

“Monster hunting is a contact sport,” I tell him as we make our way toward the restrooms.

“Apparently, a wet one,” he shoots back.

Nettie beams, wringing water from her sleeve with the satisfaction of someone who has just checked an item off her bucket list.

“Some people come to Scotland for the castles or the whiskey,” she says. “I came for the prehistoric aquatic wildlife encounter—and I, my friends, am leaving satisfied.”

“Until dinner,” Bess says dryly. “Then you’ll be hunting the elusive wild shrimp cocktail across the buffet line.”

Some mysteries are best left unexplained, I think, watching Nettie recount her adventure to a captivated crowd. Like what exactly lurks in Loch Ness, or how Nettie Butterworth manages to find adventure in places where most people just find overpriced souvenirs.

Soon enough, our adventure comes to an end and we’re all headed back to the ship.

The bus pulls to a stop at the port, and as we stand to disembark, a text alert chimes simultaneously all around us. Wes pulls his phone out with a sense of dread, already knowing what he’ll find.

Ransom and I lean in. It’s a new message from the Gossip Ghost—or at least, one of them.

Monsters come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? Some lurk in lochs, while others walk among you, wearing friendly faces. But here’s a secret even Nessie doesn’t know—one of you is next. Tick-tock.

—Gossip Ghost

I look up to find Ransom and Wes already staring at me, and their expressions mirror the cold fear sliding down my spine.

This isn’t just about exposing past secrets anymore.

The killer is planning to strike again.