Page 13

CHAPTER 13

While Trixie’s Away, the Ship Will Play—The Elodie Edition

W elcome back, pleasure cruisers! While Trixie and Ransom are still investigating suspicious activity in their private hot tub (and really, who am I to interrupt such thorough detective work?), let’s dive into today’s steamy question.

Dear Elodie,

I keep hearing about the Romance Package add-on for my upcoming cruise. Is it worth the extra money? The rose petals and champagne seem a bit cliché.

Romantically Resistant

Dear Resistant,

The ship’s Romance Package is like a little black dress—it’s just the beginning of your evening’s possibilities. Sure, they’ll scatter rose petals on your bed, but the real fun is finding creative ways to pick them up. And that champagne? Let’s just say there’s more than one way to appreciate its bubbles.

Although between us, skip the chocolate-covered strawberries they offer. I’ve found much more interesting ways to enjoy both chocolate and fruit. The room service menu has some delightfully creative options if you know how to read between the lines. Just ask for Elodie’s Sultry Special. You’re welcome.

Sailing suggestively,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. And yes, room service is discreet. Trust me on this one.

Trixie

Laughter ripples across the promenade deck as Bess, Nettie, and I make our grand entrance, although I can’t blame a single soul for their reaction.

The polished teak gleams beneath our feet while the ocean sparkles beyond the rails, but neither view can distract from our faces.

Tinsley scurried back to work after that catastrophe of a brunch—probably to avoid being seen—and Sassy vanished, muttering something about needing to haunt someone who didn’t actually scare her . That says a lot, considering she’s the ghost in this supernatural equation.

Bess, Nettie, and I exchange a sideways glance at one another. We look as if we’re victims of an explosion that took place at the cosmetics counter—and were severely injured, perhaps even maimed beyond recognition.

Between my blue teardrop, Bess’ neon blush, and Nettie’s Easter egg surprise eyes, it’s clear we’re starring in our own circus sideshow right this minute.

“Would you look at that?” Nettie points across the deck at a woman sporting electric blue teardrops painted down both cheeks. “Another victim of the Luscious and Lethal makeover massacre. And compared to us, I’d say she got off easy.”

“Yup,” Bess says. “And she only had to kill six people in prison to do it.”

I give a mournful chuckle. “And there’s another one.” I nod toward a passenger whose face resembles a sunset gone wrong. “At least we’re not suffering alone. We’re like the sisterhood of the traveling disaster.”

Bess nods. “Sisterhood of the somewhat edible traveling disaster,” she adds. The three of us agreed that the “food” left a lot to be desired.

“And why is my stomach suddenly burning?” As if I had to ask.

“Mine feels like a volcano that’s about to erupt.” Bess groans as she nods to a woman to our left. “Hey, look! There’s the leader of the luscious and lunatic pack, ” she says as the woman passes and we can see up close that her lipstick extends well past her natural lip line.

“I think Tinsley and I got the worst of it,” I say, peering at my reflection in a shop window. “Elvie must have really put her broken heart into our transformations.”

“Or her revenge,” Nettie adds as she sidles up next to me. “Although I have to say, this eyeshadow does bring out the crazy in my eyes.”

Bess snorts. “Everything brings out the crazy in your eyes.”

The sound of footsteps closing in causes us to turn around and the three of us gasp on cue.

Ransom and Wes are headed this way and they both stop dead in their tracks at the sight of us. Their faces freeze in that special way that says they’re trying very hard not to react—and that in and of itself is a pretty horrible reaction.

Their mouths contort as they reach for words that never quite make it past their lips. Mostly because their mothers raised them not to say anything if they don’t have something nice to say.

Wes squints over at us. “You look”—his lips press tight, because evidently, he cannot tell a lie.

“ Colorful ,” Ransom finishes diplomatically while his eyes enlarge a touch as they dare inspect us. “Very colorful and”—Ransom searches for the right word as if he’s hunting for a life preserver—“ festive .” He rocks back on his heels with a hint of relief.

Wes nods. “Like Christmas came early,” he adds. “And brought all its colors with it. Every single one of them.”

“Save it.” I hold up a hand. “We know we look like we raided my paint supplies—in the middle of an earthquake.”

“I was going to add that you look radiant.” Ransom pulls me into his arms and drops a kiss on my lips before pulling back and giving me another quick once-over. “Is that a teardrop on your cheek?”

“That’s right,” I tell him. “And you know what that means. I’ve killed before, and if you’re not careful with your words, I might just do it again.”

We all give a quick laugh—well, everyone but me.

“All right, ladies,” Wes says, holding his hands up slightly. “I’m not touching this with a ten-foot pole. How about we treat you to some coffee? You look like you could use a pick-me-up. And I hear The Caffeinated Crown just pulled a batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”

We don’t protest.

In fact, less than five minutes later, we’re settled at the coffee shop’s outdoor balcony, taking in the sea breeze while staring out at sparkling waters.

The smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and premium coffee fills the air, almost masking the scent of whatever fruity powder Elvie dusted on our faces. The sun casts a warm glow over marble tables while turning the waves into crushed diamonds.

Bess cranes her neck past me and frowns. “People look downright petrified of our presence. I’m starting to feel like we need an exorcist.”

Nettie shrugs while studying the menu. “Or maybe just a paper bag to put over our heads.”

Ransom lifts a brow. “It might attract less attention.”

Wes returns with our orders balanced on a tray—a Murderous Mocha for me, complete with chocolate shavings and whipped cream. A Killer Caramel Latte for Bess, and Nettie’s bold choice, a quad-shot Deadly Dark Roast that could wake the dead—and probably has. Each comes with a slice of Death by Chocolate Cake that looks like it might actually follow through on that threat, in addition to those fresh, hot, out-of-the-oven cinnamon rolls. Plus, two plain black coffees for Wes and Ransom. I have a feeling they’ve had enough excitement for the day, merely by being in the same vicinity as us.

“It’s so nice that the café has adapted the theme from Brad Whipple’s podcast,” I say, hoping that I’m right and it’s not the fact that this ship has somehow become the murder capital of the world—the watery portion of the world at least.

“That’s right,” Ransom says, lifting his coffee my way. “They were supposed to be hosting a podcast here this morning, so the manager made a few changes to the menu items yesterday. But we all know why that podcast was canceled.” He looks over at Wes. “Did the barista ask you any questions?”

“She asked if we were with the circus,” he admits, setting down our drinks. “I told her we were with the murder investigation. Somehow that seemed less dignified.” He winces my way. “My apologies.”

“No need to do so,” I say, toasting him with my cinnamon roll before taking a bite. “Oh my word,” I moan. “This is amazing.”

Bess nods in agreement. “I’d wear this mask every day just to get my hands on one of these. How have I not had one before? I live on this ship.”

Nettie grunts. “The same ship we make questionable choices on. Like choosing to successfully avoid this place for years.”

“It just opened up,” Wes is quick to clear the air. “You haven’t missed a thing. In fact, the ship is trying out a slew of new places during our transatlantic run.”

“Speaking of questionable choices and questions in general.” Ransom sighs as he looks my way. “What did you learn from Elvie Whipple? Besides her unique approach to makeup application.”

Well, well, so much for keeping secrets. But then, that’s what I get for marrying an ex-FBI behavioral analyst.

I have a feeling my days of getting away with anything at all have all but dissipated.

And I’d love to say the very same thing about the killer.