Page 3 of Cruel Christmas Cruise (Cruising Through Midlife: Cruise Ship Cozy Mysteries #12)

I t’s Wes I see cutting through the crowd right here in London, looking sharp in his captain’s uniform with enough brass buttons to blind all of England. The ship is actually docked in Greenwich, and lucky for us that’s just five miles from London.

And he’s not alone. He’s got a whole group trailing behind him, including two women practically attached to his arms, a blonde and a redhead.

“Well, well,” I mutter. “Look who’s collecting Christmas ornaments.”

“More like barnacles,” Nettie quips.

Wes spots us and heads over with his entourage in tow.

“Trixie! Ransom!” he beams. “Bess and Nettie! What a surprise!”

“Not half as surprising as your accessories,” I tease, nodding at the women clinging to him.

Wes is tall, has green eyes, and dimples you could dive into. He’s just as striking to look at as Ransom is, and he just so happens to be the captain of the Emerald Queen of the Seas .

Ransom is the head of vessel security. And fun fact? Wes was once married to Ransom’s sister. It’s all a bit twisted.

“Oh, you’re funny,” says the blonde on his right arm, her porcelain-perfect face framed by a sleek bob and her designer dress clearly chosen to highlight both wealth and cleavage. “I can see why Westie talks about you so much.”

“ Westie ?” Ransom raises an eyebrow at the cutesy moniker.

Ransom has known Wes for years and I bet he’s never heard anyone call him that.

Wes, whose formal name is Weston, actually manages to blush. “Everyone—these are my old high school classmates,” he says with a touch of pride.

“Who are you calling old?” The redhead taps him on the behind and the rest of them burst out with a laugh.

But the redhead laughs the loudest with her perfectly styled crimson waves and a body-conscious cocktail dress that suggests both business meetings and bedroom negotiations.

She carries herself with the confidence of someone who never accepts the first offer—but has the last word.

“My apologies.” Wes gives a gracious bow. “My good friends will be joining us on the cruise. It’s our fortieth class reunion.”

“Wes!” I gasp. “Why didn’t you tell us? Like maybe on the last cruise? This is huge!”

“You were on your honeymoon,” he protests. “I didn’t want to interrupt with tales of my impending midlife crisis disguised as nostalgia.”

“Who are you calling a midlife crisis?” the blonde demands with a laugh as her perfectly manicured nails dig into Wes’ arm as if she were claiming him. And judging by that lustful look in her eyes, I’d say she is.

“If the shoe fits”—Nettie murmurs—“although in this case, it looks more like a stiletto.”

“Now, now,” Bess says sweetly. “I’m sure Weston’s friends are just as excited to see him again after all these years. And on a cruise no less. You kids are going to have the very best time.”

“Oh, we’re very excited,” the blonde purrs. “Aren’t we, Westie?” She licks her lips as she examines him and looks as if she’s going to devour him in three hasty bites. Honestly, I’m not sure Wes will survive it. The woman looks as if she eats men for breakfast.

Wes gives a good-natured laugh, although I can tell her brazenness is making him rethink the entire reunion.

“Everyone, this is Mistletoe ‘Missy’ Thatch,” he quickly introduces the blonde, whose smile looks more like a shark circling its dinner.

“Mistletoe?” Parker whispers to me. “As in the botanical holiday matchmaker?”

“Call me Missy.” She nods, releasing Wes’ arm long enough to shake hands with each of us properly.

“It’s lovely to meet you all. Westie has told us wonderful things about his friends on board.

Haven’t you, Westie?” She turns to the others with a different tone entirely.

“Although you left out the part about your midlife crisis.”

Wes laughs in response before nodding to the redhead. “And this is my good friend, Ginger Garland.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Ginger says with genuine warmth. “Any friends of Weston’s are friends of ours.”

“And these two behind me are Holly Cresswell and Alec Shepherd,” Wes adds, gesturing to a strawberry blonde and distinguished silver-haired man standing slightly apart from the arm-clingers.

Holly steps forward with genuine warmth and extends her hand. “It’s lovely to meet you all. Wes has spoken very highly of his friends on board.”

“Especially you, Trixie,” Alec adds with a kind smile. “He says you have quite the talent for solving mysteries.”

“Oh yes,” Missy chimes in, her tone still perfectly pleasant toward us but with an edge when she glances at the strawberry blonde. “Holly here loves a good mystery, too. Remember that time senior year when a certain someone’s diary went missing? Holly was quite the detective then, weren’t you?”

Holly’s expression tightens a bit. “That was so long ago, I hardly remember.”

“Some things never change,” Missy says with a growl before turning back to us with that polished smile. “I do hope we’ll all get to know each other better on the cruise. It does sound like such fun.”

“Speaking of fun”—Ginger interjects—“remember that Christmas formal when Alec showed up in that ridiculous Santa suit with a skull and crossbones on the back? I thought Dean Morrison was going to have a stroke.”

“At least I didn’t spike the punch bowl,” Alec shoots back with a laugh.

“That was never proven,” Missy says with mock innocence, then adds to her classmates, “but we all know who really did it, don’t we?”

They all turn to Wes at once and both Bess and I gasp at the thought. Oddly enough, neither Ransom nor Nettie is all that surprised.

“We’ll see you all on board,” Wes says, already being pulled away by his enthusiastic classmates. “Try not to find any dead bodies before we sail!”

Everyone laughs except me. My laugh comes out more like a strangled cough because I know all too well that dead bodies have a way of finding me, not the other way around.

“Such a kidder, our Westie,” Missy says pleasantly enough before turning to her classmates. “Although given our track record, maybe we should all sleep with one eye open.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ginger laughs. “The statute of limitations ran out years ago.”

Holly and Alec exchange a look before Holly speaks up. “Well, it was lovely meeting you all. Alec and I were just heading to Footstone & Belvedere for tea. Would anyone care to join us?”

“That’s very kind,” I say, genuinely appreciating the offer from the two who seem the most normal of the bunch.

“We’d love to,” Missy answers before anyone else can speak. “But Wes promised to show us his favorite spots in London. Didn’t you, Westie?”

Wes looks about as enthusiastic as a man heading to his own execution. “I did, yes. Perhaps another time?”

“Definitely,” Alec says warmly. “Enjoy your tour.”

We wave goodbye and start toward the pub with Parker leading the way through the crowded streets. Christmas shoppers bustle past with bags from Liberty and Selfridges, and somewhere nearby, a street musician is murdering “Silent Night” on what sounds like a broken accordion.

“Well, that was interesting,” Nettie says once we’re out of earshot. “I give it two days before someone pushes Missy overboard.”

“Nettie!” Bess scolds, but honestly, I’m thinking the same thing.

“What?” Nettie shrugs. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. I know her type. That woman’s got more secrets than a CIA file cabinet. She’s a menace.”

“She was perfectly nice to us,” Ransom points out. “It’s her own friends she seems to have a bit of tension with.”

“Did you see how she kept calling him Westie?” Bess asks. “It’s as if she was trying to stake her claim. And he is single. She just might be.”

“Or trying to annoy the other women,” Nettie suggests. “I knew a woman like that once. She ended up stealing her best friend’s husband just to prove she could—and that best friend was me.”

As we continue our way through the bustling street, I glance back one more time at Wes and his friends. They’re about half a block away now, but something catches my eye that makes me stop dead in my tracks.

Two translucent figures float near Holly and Alec. A woman with blonde hair styled in soft waves, wearing what looks like a cashmere sweater. The man is tall and athletic with dark hair and the confidence of someone who looks as if he’s used to being in charge.

My stomach drops faster than a lead anchor.

“Mom?” Parker’s voice breaks through my supernatural stupor. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Two to be exact, but I’ll never admit it, not to Parker anyway. He’s the only one in our little group who doesn’t know about my supernatural quirk. And I intend to keep it that way.

“Trixie?” Ransom’s hand finds the small of my back. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” I force myself to form a somewhat convincing smile. “Just thought I saw someone I knew.”

“Well, whoever it was, they can wait,” Nettie declares. “I’m starving, and Parker promised us the best fish and chips in London.”

“Right this way,” Parker says with a cheerful laugh.

I try to focus on the here and now—the Christmas lights twinkling overhead, the sound of Big Ben in the distance, the warmth of Ransom’s hand in mine. But my mind keeps circling back to those ghosts.

Two ghosts. A double haunting.

One ghost means murder. But two ?

“You’re awfully quiet,” Ransom murmurs as we follow Parker down a narrow side street.

“Just thinking about the cruise,” I say, which is true enough. “Something tells me this reunion is going to be more eventful than anyone expects.”

“When is anything on that ship not eventful?” he asks with a wry smile. “But whatever happens, we’ll handle it together.”

I squeeze his hand, mentally filing away his optimism for when I’m knee-deep in my next unauthorized investigation.

Two ghosts mean double trouble, and that’s one Christmas present I definitely didn’t ask for.

If there’s anything worse than one holiday spirit at sea, it’s two. And something tells me this Christmas cruise is about to serve up more than eggnog and carols.

As we duck into the cozy pub with the smell of beer-battered fish and vinegar wrapping around us like a warm blanket, I can’t shake the feeling that those ghosts aren’t just a couple of random spirits.

They’re a dark harbinger of things to come.

And whatever is coming, we’re sailing right into it.