Page 31

CHAPTER 31

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

H ello, husband hunters! While our newlyweds are busy exploring ship acoustics—and honestly, who knew the honeymoon suite had such excellent soundproofing?—let’s tackle today’s group inquiry.

Dear Elodie,

My girlfriends and I (all delightfully single) booked a cruise for next month. We’re looking for tips on meeting eligible men at sea. There are five of us, and we’re not leaving this ship without at least one love connection. Can you help a sister out—or five?

Desperate Deck Divas

My maritime manhunters,

First of all, I so love that you’re traveling in a pack—it’s like bringing your own cheering section. Now, let’s talk strategy.

The ship’s officers are like catnip in those uniforms. Case in point, the Italian restaurant ma?tre d’ is usually single for a reason (trust me), and the security team is tragically overworked (though the head of which is currently occupied with giving our beloved Trixie very thorough protection).

For best results, stake out the following hunting grounds:

1. The martini bar around sunset (when the business types loosen their ties)

2. The gym at seven a.m. (when the dedicated ones show off their dedication )

3. The coffee bar at eight a.m. (when the walk-of-shamers need caffeine)

4. The pool at three p.m. (when the sun makes everyone look... well, ambitious )

Pro tip: Avoid the late-night buffet hunters. Anyone that excited about midnight meatballs is probably not your soulmate

Warning: The ship’s dance instructors are professionally flirtatious. If he says you’re his best student, honey, you’re his fifth best student today.

Happy hunting,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. If all else fails, there’s always the drop-something-by-the-shuffleboard-court maneuver. However, do check his left hand first. We’re looking for love, not lawsuits.

Trixie

With Ransom tied up in meetings all afternoon, I spent a gloriously relaxing day with my partners in crime-solving—or more to the point, simply partners in crime as we rested up for the first formal night of the trip. Or first official formal night, I should say.

Bess, Nettie, and I started the day off right with the breakfast buffet at the Blue Water Cafe, where Nettie managed to try every type of breakfast offering available, for research purposes, she claimed.

It was oatmeal and scones for Bess, while I doubled down on both pancakes and waffles. I couldn’t help myself. Ransom made sure that I worked up an appetite before I left the room.

Then afterward, the three of us lounged by the pool where I actually made it through three chapters of the novel I’m reading without stumbling over any bodies, which feels like a personal best. And let’s face it, it sort of is.

Lunch in the formal dining room turned into high tea, which led straight into bingo—where Bess shocked us all by winning the jackpot.

“It’s about darn tootin’ time,” she shouted and sounded a lot more like Nettie than she did herself. You know what they say—you become the company you keep. “I’ve been manifesting this win ever since we first stepped on board!”

We celebrated with hot stone massages at the spa, and somehow made it back to our rooms with just enough time to dress for dinner with Ransom and Wes.

But now dinner is long over—although the memory of the chicken Milanese with creamy risotto Milanese lives on. Both are made with copious amounts of parmigiano cheese, the chicken being deep-fried in cheesy crumbles, and it’s a dish that has set the bar far too high for the rest of the dishes I plan on inhaling for the remainder of the trip.

Cheese, much like Ransom Courtland Baxter, is my weakness.

The best part? Ransom is a staunch supporter of my cheese addiction, unlike my ex who was a staunch supporter of me starving myself to fit into a size zero. And seeing that the size zero thing never panned out for me, that probably explains the whole cheating ex thing, too.

After dinner, we hit the Emerald Theater and watched the ship’s rendition of Phantom of the Opera —that never gets old. Then we trotted up to the Blue Water Café and ate our weight in molten chocolate lava cake—that will for sure never get old.

Now that it’s almost midnight, the entire lot of us has migrated to the casino together and that includes, Bess, Nettie, Ransom, and Wes. And once we arrived, we had an unfortunate run-in with Tinsley, which is evidently an ongoing thing for me.

The casino pulses with formal night energy with a cacophony of chirping slot machines mixing with the rustle of silk gowns and the clink of martini glasses.

The air is thick with expensive perfume, expensive booze, anticipation, and copious amounts of greed.

Let’s face it. No one steps into the casino without dreams of winning big. Although judging by the rather violent assault Nettie just launched on a slot machine, some dreams are more determined than others.

My pale lavender evening gown, another Elodie special, catches the rainbow lights as if it were trapping a star. The bodice hugs in all the right places, while the skirt flows to the ground like liquid—assuming liquid came with a thigh-high slit that makes walking both possible and potentially scandalous.

Bess looks elegant in deep purple silk that makes her crimson hair gleam, while Nettie has gone full showgirl in a red and yellow sequined number that could probably be seen from the International Space Station.

Ransom shakes his head my way as his eyes ride up and down my body. “I know I’ve already said it a dozen times this evening, but you are killing it in that dress.”

Tinsley huffs a dry laugh. “Murder is her specialty.”

“I wouldn’t arrest you.” He punctuates the sentiment with a kiss on my cheek.

It should be noted that the man fills out a tuxedo in ways that should probably be illegal in at least three states.

Bess chuckles. “Murder might be her specialty, but so is tracking down a killer,” she says while studying the one-armed bandit in front of her. “But right now, the only thing I’m interested in tracking down is another win. Let’s go, universe ,” she shouts as she settles in next to Nettie. “How about sending me a killer payday?”

Both Bess and Nettie claim their favorite slot machines, while the rest of us huddle nearby, and I must say that Ransom and Wes look particularly dashing in their tuxedos. Even Tinsley has traded her usual pantsuit for a sleek black column dress, although somehow, she’s managed to make even that look uptight and regimented.

“I agree with Ransom,” Wes says, nodding my way. “You’re looking good, Troublefield,”

“Baxter,” I add with a smile. “And you both clean up pretty nice yourselves.” I give Ransom a wink as I say it.

All around us, formal-clad passengers float between gaming tables like exotic birds, their laughter mixing with the electronic whirl and twirl of slot machines. Although I seriously doubt half these people realize they’re gambling alongside actual murder suspects.

The excitement is contagious for a lot of reasons, but mostly because formal night is about to bleed into the hour we’ve been waiting for—the upcoming Midnight Murder Mingle.

“So, Detective,” Wes says, adjusting his bowtie. “How’s the investigation going?”

“Which one?” Ransom asks, looking far too handsome for my powers of concentration. “The official investigation or my wife’s?”

Tinsley belts out a laugh. “Sorry, Ransom, but we all know which investigation he was referring to.”

“That’s right,” Wes says as he bows my way. “I was talking to the detective on the case.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, for starters, I’ve been thinking about the brooch we found at the scene—right next to Brad’s body. It looked like the same rhinestone lipstick brooch Elvie was wearing the night of the murder.”

Ransom nods. “I bagged it for evidence and I’ve been thinking about it, too.” His fingers trace a quick pattern down my back and it makes it nearly impossible to focus on murder.

“Speaking of evidence.” Wes scowls at Ransom. “The security footage that night was useless. The cameras were facing the wrong direction.”

Ransom scowls right back. “I believe it was you who instructed me to have them facing the crowd.”

“And this is the time you decide to listen to me?”

Ransom’s jaw redefines itself. “In the future, allow me to do my job as I see fit.”

“I saw Elvie and Brad arguing that night,” Tinsley cuts in, managing to make the gossip sound like an official report. “Before, well, you know.”

“I saw that, too,” I say, turning to Ransom. “Hey, remember when you mentioned Elvie was making transfers from their joint account? How does that fit with Reed telling us Brad was dipping into the Luscious and Delicious cosmetics account?”

Ransom frowns with a sigh. “It doesn’t.”

“Exactly,” Tinsley pounces. “Something is amiss. And as soon as that final piece clicks, I just know I’m going to solve this case.” She shrugs our way. “I’ve listened to enough of Brad Whipple’s podcasts to know how to follow a trail of clues. And what a prize it will be for me out of all of his fans to solve this case. The bragging rights alone are worth the effort.”

Ransom ticks his head to the side. “Take all the bragging rights you want. I need this case closed, and fast.”

Wes inches back. “I’m shocked you didn’t admonish her for even trying. Tinsley is the cruise director. You are the professional detective on the case.”

I clear my throat and Wes winces.

“You know what I meant,” he says softly my way.

“Indeed. And I’m with Ransom. This case needs to close like yesterday. It’s really cutting into some serious honeymoon time.” I shoot my handsome hubby a sly look. “Speaking of the case, are you ready to reveal the source who told you about Elvie’s sticky fingers?”

“Soon enough, but not yet,” he says, and I frown at the thought.

Wes tips his head my way. “You married him.”

“Yes, I did.” I waggle my brows at the handsome stud before me. “Lucky, lucky me.”

I’ll wrangle that answer out of him later. The fun way.

“JACKPOT,” Bess screams so loud she pierces the noise in the casino and causes a woman in a skin-tight gold lamé dress to drop her martini.

“ I won, too ,” Nettie shouts twice as loud as she jumps up and down.

Wes takes a step that way and grimaces at Nettie’s machine. “I’m sorry, Net. This isn’t a win—I think you broke the one-armed bandit.”

“You can’t tell me I did the same,” Bess says, as her winnings climb to an even thousand dollars and we all let out a collective whoop just as her machine belts out a shrill cry, alerting the entire casino to her win. Soon, everyone in the vicinity is clapping up a storm.

The overhead lights blink a few times just as the announcement bell goes off and a smooth voice comes over the speakers. “The Midnight Murder Mingle will begin shortly in the formal dining room courtesy of the Whispers of the Wicked podcast. All passengers are welcome to join in on the potentially lethal fun. Please join us for a killer buffet that’s to die for.”

A round of oohs circles the casino.

“That’s our cue,” I say just as Ransom’s phone buzzes in his hand.

He checks the screen and his expression sours beneath the casino’s colorful lights. “The toxicology report is in. I need to get to my office.”

“Wait.” I grab his arm as he leans in to kiss my cheek and catch a whiff of that cologne that makes me weak in the knees. “Why would you run toxicology on Brad? He was stabbed in the back.”

“It’s routine.” The start of a smile curves his lips but doesn’t quite initiate. “And I may have a hunch about something.”

He gives me another quick peck before disappearing into the crowd. And before I can question him on that hunch, his tuxedo has melted into the sea of formal wear.

What the heck was that about?

Is it possible that I’ve been looking at this murder from the wrong angle? After all, sometimes the most obvious cause of death is just the finishing touch.

In my experience, a killer who goes for a dramatic ending usually leaves a trail of breadcrumbs leading to the real story. Or in this case, perhaps a trail of rhinestone brooches and suspicious bank transfers.

“I can’t believe I won a thousand bucks,” Bess shouts as she pumps her fists into the air.

Poor Nettie looks as if she wants to pump a fist right into her bestie’s face—that or commit a homicide.

But the last thing this ship needs is another murder on its register.

Nope.

It’s time for me to bring Brad Whipple’s killer to justice—and trade a homicide for a honeymoon.