Page 4

CHAPTER 4

T he double doors of the Neptune Lounge stand wide open, exposing the rows and rows of crystal chandeliers inside as they cast a warm glow over the blooming crowd.

A metallic sign propped on an easel reads Welcome to Whispers of the Wicked Podcast Cruise—where murder meets martinis on the high seas! And there’s a Post-it note slapped onto the sign that reads Killers not included!

“Famous last words,” Bess mutters while adjusting her crimson silk scarf. “Nothing attracts a killer like a no killers allowed sign. They’re essentially tempting fate.”

“Honey, on this ship?” Nettie’s gray hair wobbles as she shakes her head. “Fate doesn’t need any tempting. It’s got Trixie here to do its dirty work.”

“Hey, I resent that.” A partial laugh bubbles up my throat. “The bodies find me, not the other way around.”

“Same difference,” Elodie says, pulling me closer to her as if she were trying to protect me from myself—or more to the point, protect others from me. Now that I think about it, it’s probably the latter. “Face it, Trixie, you attract killers like moths to a flame. Or in your case, corpses to a cruise.”

Tinsley’s eyes widen in horror my way. “You had better not attract so much as a fly.” A loud yelp goes off by the door as a crowd amasses and Tinsley’s attention is quickly hijacked. “Oh, it’s him !” Her enthusiasm spikes to never before seen heights and her demeanor changes on a dime. Gone is that sourpuss she reserves just for me, and it’s quickly replaced with an unbridled—joy?

Tinsley waves enthusiastically at an older couple standing at the door as they busy themselves by greeting the throngs of people pouring into the lounge.

“That’s Brad Whipple and his wife, Elvie—the podcast power duo themselves,” Tinsley hums out the words, mostly to herself. “Elvie helps him run the podcast, but it’s basically Brad’s show. He’s the true crime junkie of the two. And she likes to call herself the true crime junkie widow because of all the time he spends researching cases.”

“Interesting,” I say as I examine the couple in a whole new light.

They look pleasant enough as they greet each guest with a handshake and a smile.

I’m about to step over to get a better look at them when a heavier woman in a purple knit cardigan barrels between us. That cardigan of hers hangs past her knees and reminds me more of a robe than a sweater, but despite the fact, she’s holding a tray with tiny shot glasses filled with a bright pink cocktail of some sort. Two larger glasses stand apart from the sea of shot glasses and they both have a picture of a crown on them, and just above those crowns it reads Killer King and the other Killer Queen.

It’s Brad and Elvie who scoop up the drinks fit for royalty and quickly thank the woman as well.

“ Salute ,” Elvie calls out to the crowd and the tiny shot glasses are all scooped up as we make our way to the front. “Just remember, Pink Primrose Punch can also be an invaluable part of your beauty routine when added to your bubble bath!”

“Or you can use it as a foot soak,” Brad quips, and a raucous laugh circles through the crowd.

If looks could kill, Elvie just eviscerated him.

I’m guessing the pink potion is directly related to her heart or her ego somehow. Probably both. Heck, I’ve got a favorite strawberry banana smoothie that the ship serves, and trust me when I say, I wouldn’t mind bathing in it sometime.

Hey? That sounds like a delightful honeymoon idea if ever there was one.

Both Brad and Elvie look somewhere in their mid-fifties, tired from a long day of travel, but seem rather determined to let their crime-fighting hair down despite the fact.

Brad is handsome enough. His good looks probably peaked during the Reagan administration, but he’s continued to age like expensive whiskey. He’s a silver fox who’s oozing charm in his Italian wool suit and a burgundy Hermes silk tie. I can spot a knockoff a mile away, and that’s not one of them. It’s safe to say the man has more than two nickels to rub together.

His teeth gleam impossibly white against his tan leathered skin, and yet there’s not a wrinkle in sight. My guess is he has an excellent plastic surgeon. I should know, I was married to an excellent plastic surgeon for twenty-five years. I can spot their work in the wild every single time. And thus, my impeccable knowledge of Hermes scarfs, fake and genuine alike.

Elvie, however, looks as if she stepped out of the society pages—the true crime edition, of course. Her auburn hair is styled in perfect waves that let you know she’s logged some serious time at the salon. It’s short and feathered and frames the rather camera-ready grimace she’s sporting.

She’s donned a fitted crimson dress, that in keeping with the theme most likely has a fancy name like Murdered by Merlot. Nonetheless, it hugs her every curve as if it understood the assignment. There’s a diamond-encrusted brooch in the shape of a bright red lipstick pinned to her lapel and it catches the light every time she moves, and for some reason, it feels as out of place as a disco ball at a funeral.

Elodie purrs by my side like the lioness huntress she is. The man might be married, but that has never stopped Elodie from giving a handsome man his due.

“That man is a walking, talking temptation,” she purrs while fanning herself. Case in point. “Although his poor wife looks like she’d rather be getting a root canal than standing next to him.”

I shoot another look their way. I wouldn’t have noticed, but Elodie is a master at picking up on things like marital discord. She should know, she’s caused enough of it herself.

Tinsley groans as she continues to ogle the couple like a woman obsessed. “I’ve listened to every one of their episodes— three times,” she gushes as she practically lunges onto the couple as we come upon them. She extends her hand to Brad without hesitation. “The Basement Butcher Series? Pure genius. The way you built tension in episode four with that recording of the dripping pipe? I couldn’t sleep for days!”

Thankfully, both Brad and his wife manage to chuckle and refrain from calling security. Although considering that I’m married to the chief of vessel security, I wouldn’t mind if they made that call. I am desperately missing the lips of that handsome man I married.

Ransom can arrest me anytime. Now would be nice.

“She’s seen each episode three times?” Elodie leans my way. “Well, that explains a lot. Nothing like studying up on your future career as a psychopath.”

Nettie nods. “I’ve always sensed that our little cruise director had some serious serial killer energy.”

Bess shrugs. “At least she’s found her people.”

“Listen up, you three”—Tinsley’s voice rises an octave as she turns our way— “I’d like for you to meet Brad and Elvie Whipple—the best of the best when it comes to tracking down killers. They not only report on cold cases, they help solve them.” She makes a face at me. “Not even you could best their record.”

“Oh?” Brad perks up as he looks my way. “What’s this? Don’t tell me this beautiful young woman is my competition?”

“Did you say young?” I mutter, mostly to myself.

“Our Trixie is looking rather youthful these days.” Elodie nods his way. “It’s that I’ve just been bedded by Handsome Ransom dewy glow ,” she says rather shamelessly as she turns my way. “I know it well from the myriad of women he bedded before you. I’ve never seen anything like it. You may have been married to a plastic surgeon in the past, but you’re married to the fountain of youth now.” She leans in my way and whispers, “The sexual fountain of youth.”

“I knew I traded up,” I whisper right back.

Tinsley squints my way. “I wouldn’t call her your competition,” she’s quick to correct him. “Although Trixie Troublefield is our resident ship sleuth.” She offers a snide smile my way after omitting my shiny new surname. “You might even say she’s a regular body magnet,” she continues. “In fact, don’t be surprised if you get some fresh material for your podcast before this cruise is over no thanks to her deadly luck.”

A dark laugh ripples through our little circle and I shoot Bess and Nettie a look for participating.

But Brad’s eyes linger a beat too long in my direction.

“A body magnet, you say?” He leans my way. “Now that is fascinating. We should talk about your cases sometime. Over dinner, perhaps?”

Elodie pulls back her shoulders and thrusts forward two of her best assets by proxy. “Trixie is on her honeymoon,” she tells him without hesitation. “But I’d be happy to step in for her. I’m just as good, if not better.” She winks my way. “Better at certain things that are best done in private. But I’d like to think she’s catching up.”

Good grief.

Elvie doesn’t look all that amused either. “Hear that, Brad?” She honks at him. “The woman is on her honeymoon . That means she’s married.” Her lips curve north, but her smile could freeze hellfire. “As are you ,” she’s quick to remind him. “Although that little detail seems to slip your mind more often these days.” She lifts a cold shoulder his way. “Along with other parts of your anatomy that tend to wander.”

A small crowd presses in to shake their hands, and just like that, we’ve been momentarily separated.

Bess lets out a low whistle as she leans toward Elodie and me. “Looks as if someone is sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Nettie huffs out a laugh. “Bold of you to assume he’s sleeping anywhere near her cabin.”

The crowd clears again and we’re about to step inside the lounge when Nettie stops short in front of Elvie.

“Oh, my sparkling stars,” Nettie coos while pointing at the glittering brooch on Elvie’s collar. “That lipstick has more ice than the Titanic’s last night out.”

The entire lot of us groans.

Number one—you never joke about the Titanic on a cruise ship; it’s all sorts of bad juju. And number two—see number one.

“Do you like it?” Elvie’s expression brightens with what looks like a sincere smile. “It’s a part of my Luscious and Delicious Cosmetics collections. I’m thinking about branching out into jewelry, too.” She preens while giving the brooch a quick pat of appreciation. “Each piece is hand-set with Swarovski crystals.”

Brad snorts. “The one venture of hers I can actually be proud of. When she’s not bankrupting us with product recalls and lawsuit settlements.” He belts out a laugh before winking her way. “Just kidding, dear.”

“Always the supportive husband,” Elvie shoots back and her voice could cut diamonds—or in this case Swarovski crystals.

But dig or no dig, Elodie’s eyes light up, ignoring the marital warfare like only she can.

“Did you say cosmetics?” Elodie comes to life at the thought.

Elodie is a girl’s girl through and through. I’m pretty sure cosmetics is one of her love languages.

“That’s right.” Elvie nods her way. “They’re not only beautiful to look at, they’re delicious to eat. I specialize in edible cosmetics as well as edible lotions and potions.”

Elodie gasps—at the carnal implications, no doubt.

“I need your entire line,” she practically shouts. “Like yesterday . The ship’s boutique is always looking for new luxury brands, and I just know these will sell out fast.” Her gaze shifts to Brad. “I can spot a sexy winner a mile away.”

Again, good grief.

At this rate, Elodie will be lucky if Elvie doesn’t poison her by way of those lotions and potions for so brazenly admiring her husband.

Although if I poisoned all the women who so brazenly admire my brand-new husband, half the female population would be dead overnight. And once the women on the other side of the world woke up, I’d be forced to do away them as well. That would leave me as the last female standing. And I’m far past the age of propagating humanity, so the human takeover of the planet would be officially over.

“Well, it’s your lucky day,” Elvie says to Elodie as her smile turns predatory—to be fair, both Elvie and Elodie are sporting rather predatory grins. “I brought a trunk full of products,” Elvie tells us. “I figured it would be like fishing with dynamite on this ship—wealthy women trapped at sea with nothing but time and credit cards.”

“ Ooh ,” Elodie purrs once again. “That’s exactly how I conduct business. It’s a dream every single time my shop doors open.”

The lights in the lounge flicker and we all turn in that direction.

“Well, well, ladies”—Brad gives a slight bow our way—“it’s time to head inside and have a killer good time.”

A chill runs up my spine. Something tells me he means it in the literal sense.

And if that woman I saw earlier is indeed a ghost, then that means someone is about to have a killer time indeed.