Page 16

CHAPTER 16

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

W elcome back, pleasure seekers! While our newlyweds are busy securing the perimeter of their private balcony, let’s address today’s deliciously desperate question.

Dear Elodie,

Help! I signed up for private dance lessons on the ship, but I’m having second thoughts. The instructor is gorgeous, and I’m worried my husband might get jealous. Should I cancel?

Tangled in the Tango

My dancing darling,

Cancel? Oh honey, no. Those dance lessons are like a three-course meal of temptation—appetizing to look at, and delicious to sample, but your main course is waiting in your cabin. Use that gorgeous instructor to fuel your fire, then take those new moves back to your room for a private performance.

Pro tip: The Latin Heat class is particularly effective. Maybe warn your cabin neighbors first—last week’s participants got a bit enthusiastic with their “homework.”

Dancing dangerously,

XOXO Elodie

Trixie

The memory of this morning’s room service buffet still lingers in my mind. Wes really outdid himself by sending up a buffet to end all buffets. Champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, and enough gourmet delicacies to feed a small army. The strawberries were divine, though, even with Sassy providing commentary on my technique for eating them.

Speaking of the Sassy specter…

I can’t believe I actually told my new husband I had a headache last night.

Of course, that was long after the shower, but still.

A headache! On my honeymoon!

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I did have one—a ghost-shaped headache named Sassy Forenza who spent the entire evening taking what appeared to be detailed notes while floating above our bed like a celestial tornado.

Let me be the first to tell you that romance is significantly harder to achieve with an otherworldly stenographer in attendance.

I really should see about getting her fired.

I certainly don’t need her. Although I wouldn’t mind quizzing her on what she knows about the deceased. I’ll have to find time to do just that, because the sooner I solve this case, the sooner I can get back to my honeymoon—headache-free and without a spectator.

But I’m no longer in my luxurious honeymoon suite coming up with excuses to give to my handsome new husband. I’m standing in one of the ship’s boutiques located in the Queen’s Mall, wearing what can only be described as radioactive pink couture, while said ghost passes through designer racks with entirely too much enthusiasm.

Of course, I met up with Bess and Nettie and brought them along as well. We indulged in first breakfast in the Blue Water café, a smorgasbord of blueberry pancakes, fresh baked croissants, cinnamon rolls because we now have a full-blown addiction, and a seven-layer chocolate cake—because why not? That led to second breakfast in the formal dining room where my body commanded that I indulge in the savory fare, eggs with Hollandaise sauce sitting on a pile of lox along with an everything bagel.

Everything seems to be the keyword when it comes to my breakfast these days.

Bess and Nettie accused me of working up an appetite and I let them know I was more or less eating away my performance anxiety. Bess thinks I should find a way to bar the far-too-friendly ghost from my stateroom, and Nettie has decided she likes Sassy’s style.

She so would.

The boutique is already teeming with customers—women with nowhere to go and all day to get there with a credit card in hand—which happens to be almost verbatim when it comes to Elvie’s business plan regarding this trip. And with all these buy two, get one free sales that the Queen’s Mall seems to be running, Elodie really doesn’t fight fair.

Speak of the devil.

I spot my blonde bestie looking rather sassy herself in her ship’s uniform that looks about two sizes too small. She’s unbuttoned her crisp white blouse to show off her ample décolleté, and that navy pencil skirt looks as if it was dipped onto her body by way of hot wax.

“ Elodie ,” I hiss her name a little harsher than intended, but only a little.

“Oh, don’t you Elodie me.” She purses those ruby-red lips my way and punctuates her sass with a wink.

Sass seems to be a catching condition these days.

Oh, who am I kidding? Elodie invented sass. If offered the ability to haunt my honeymoon, she’d be sitting in the middle of the bed with us, barking out commands.

“Look at you,” she purrs. “You look positively edible,” she says, circling me like a fashion-obsessed shark.

“I look like a flamingo in the middle of a fever dream,” I counter, tugging at the hem of this hot pink cocktail dress I’ve squeezed myself into. And don’t think I didn’t notice that all of the glitzy gowns Elodie stuffed in my closet were at least a full size too small. Either that or my newfound obsession with cinnamon rolls is already taking its toll.

“Please, Elodie,” I beg, because let’s face it, I’m not above it. “For the love of all things retail, let me buy some jeans.”

“Will do,” Elodie sings while tugging down the neckline of my dress with practiced precision.

Figures.

“Really?” I inch back as a sprig of hope blooms in my chest. A suspicious bloom of hope, but I’ll take it.

“Of course.” Those ruby lips of hers give a wicked curve. “As soon as we dock in Jolly Old England. But for this cruise, my love—your honeymoon, need I remind you—denim is strictly verboten.”

A kerfuffle arises across the way and I spot Sassy and Nettie playing tug-of-war for the same glittery kaftan.

“Now Sassafras ,” Nettie says firmly to the space three feet to Sassy’s left, “I think you’d look better in palazzo pants.”

And oddly, Sassy looks thoroughly offended at the thought of sporting a pair of wide-legged trousers.

Bess shrugs my way. “It could be worse. At least they’re not critiquing anyone’s love life at the moment.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I mutter, just as Becky Lee Darling breezes in with her arms already laden with shopping bags.

Her salt and pepper hair bounces in perfect waves around her heart-shaped face. She’s squeezed her curvy frame into one of Elodie’s more adventurous sundresses and she tossed her signature purple knit cardigan over it. There’s something endearing about Becky Lee—a girl-next-door warmth that shines through her smile. Even her pale skin and premature gray at the temples seem to radiate with newfound enthusiasm this morning.

I hope she’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the cruise despite the grim circumstances.

She’s about to breeze by when I step in front of her. I can’t help it. She’s next on my hit list and I’ve got a homicide to solve and a honeymoon to have.

“Trixie!” she bubbles with a laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I nearly barreled right through you. How’s married life treating you?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Although based on that glow, I probably don’t need to ask.”

I shake my head. “The glow is purely artificial and a direct result of this glowing frock reflecting off my flesh. This dress could probably guide ships to shore in a storm.”

Elodie belts out a laugh and it makes me wonder if making me look like a burlesque beacon in the night has been her intention all along. On second thought, it so is.

“So what are you up to today?” I ask the woman before me. “Planning on getting some knitting done out on the deck? It’s a beautiful day to do it.” And a beautiful day for me to join her and ask every last question about the deceased and his wife.

“That’s exactly what I had planned on doing,” she’s quick to say. “But actually, my head is sort of all over the place right now. My husband is congregating with the rest of the fans from the podcast this afternoon, so I thought I’d catch one of the shows. You know, get my mind off of things.”

“I can’t say I blame you.” A moment of silence bounces between us as she gives a quick nod. “So which show are you thinking about?”

“Well, I’ve always been a little intrigued by magicians and the like, and wouldn’t you know it there is this really cool mentalist on board. He has a show in about an hour. This guy supposedly reads minds, reveals secrets—the whole mystical enchilada.” She gives a little sigh at the thought. “I figure in the least it should be a hoot. And I’d give anything to have a genuine laugh right about now.”

“A man who can read my mind?” Elodie pulls her shoulders back and her boobs nearly dislodge themselves right out of her top. “On this cruise?”

Becky Lee nods. “The Amazing Alfonso,” she’s quick to confirm.

“Oh, him .” Elodie frowns at the mention of his name. “I’m familiar. Very mysterious, very dramatic. Very anticlimactic beneath the sheets. Lots of velvet.”

Becky Lee shrugs. “As long as he entertains above the sheets, I’m okay with velvet.” She glances at her watch. “I’d better get going if I want to snag a good seat. Plus, I want to hit the buffet beforehand.”

“Smart,” I tell her. “Maybe I’ll see you at the show.”

Her mouth opens and closes. “That would be nice. In fact, I’ll save you a seat.”

She takes off just as Bess and Nettie barrel this way along with the sassiest ghost of them all.

“You ladies ready to kick this investigation up a notch?” I ask and they all belt out a collective whoop of approval.

Perfect.

Now all I have to do is solve a murder, survive a mentalist show in a dress that could signal passing aircraft, and somehow get through my honeymoon without trying to kill a voyeuristic ghost. Not necessarily in that order.

The Amazing Alfonso won’t be the only one in that room trying to pry secrets from unsuspecting minds.

The question is, what kind of secrets does Becky Lee Darling have to tell?