Page 6

CHAPTER 6

A scream rips from my throat before I can stop it, echoing off the lounge walls like a soprano practicing her vocal scales.

Brad Whipple lies face-down on the cold hardwood floor with that vintage serial killer’s knife jutting from his back at a hard angle. The smell of coffee and donuts mingles with something metallic and my stomach churns because of it.

“Bravo!” Nettie claps as both she and Bess suddenly materialize in this dimly lit space behind the makeshift stage.

The Neptune Lounge is filled to the gills with fans from far and near, anxious to hear everything Brad Whipple has to say regarding killers and homicides alike. And, well, now, it doesn’t look like he’ll be saying a word to anyone ever again.

“That’s some grade-A screaming right there,” Nettie continues while elbowing me in the ribs and winking. “Practicing for the honeymoon suite, are we?”

“Nettie!” Bess swats her arm. “Must you be so crass? Besides, not all of us scream at the top of our lungs behind bedroom doors.”

“And it shows,” Nettie says without missing a crass beat.

“Never mind that,” Bess says, waving her off. “Trixie, what’s going on? What in the world are you screaming at? Do we need to call—” She freezes mid-sentence once she spots the deceased. And just like that, both women unleash screams that could wake the dead—or in this case, the already dead.

And sadly, their screams don’t seem to be working in that capacity.

Before I can stop the aria at hand, Elodie bursts in with her heels clicking against the hardwood like a tap-dancing telegram of doom. She takes one look at the scene—more specifically, the body—and tosses her hands in the air.

“My goodness”—she scolds right at me—“you just couldn’t wait to get your hands dirty again, or should I say bloody ? A knife to the back? Really? Look at that pool of crimson he’s lying in. For the love of all things evil, Trixie, think of the cleaning crew. Bloodstains are such a nightmare to deal with.”

“But”—I scoff at the sassy blonde before me. “Elodie, I didn’t?—”

“Oh hush, you.” She waves a finger at me to do just that. “You’re always coming at us with excuses. What is it this time? He just happened to fall on a knife. In your vicinity. Again .”

I gasp her way. “Actually?—”

“You know”—she continues, pacing around the body with a frown as if she’s judging a particularly disappointing art installation—“most people bring back seashells from their honeymoon. You bring back bodies.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bess says while fanning herself with her fingers, most likely to keep from fainting.

I shake my head at the three of them. “For your information, I haven’t even been on my honeymoon for more than twenty-four hours.”

Elodie’s mouth falls open. “I think she’s threatening us with more bodies. I’d watch your back, girls.” She nods to Bess and Nettie. “And I’d especially watch out for errant knives.”

I’m about to form my rebuttal when a six-foot wall of muscles jumps into our midst.

“Wes,” I practically shout as the captain steps in close.

“What’s going on? What’s with the screams? I just stepped into the lounge and heard a choir of terror going off.” His captain’s uniform looks so pristine in this dim light it practically glows—lots of white, lots of brass, lots of clout. Wes is tall, a wall of muscles himself, and those green eyes of his could make any woman weak in the knees. But right now, those eyes are narrowed my way with suspicion.

He wasn’t all that thrilled that I had chosen Ransom to have my happily ever after with, but he was kind enough to accept the fact and even officiated the two of us as we tied the knot.

“ Trixie ,” Wes says my name like a reprimand. “Again?”

“Why does everyone assume I’m responsible?” I gag on the words.

Nettie scoffs. “If the knife fits… Now go on and wrap your hand around it. I bet it fits like a glove.”

Bess rolls her eyes. “It’s a knife, for Pete’s sake. It fits everyone like a glove. Besides, you should know, you were the one holding one just like it back at the murder memorabilia display.”

We all gasp at once.

“You don’t think that’s the same knife, do you?” Elodie asks what every one of us is thinking.

I nod. “Judging by that long back handle, I’d say it was.”

Bess gasps as she grabs Nettie by the arm. “Well, if it is, that means it has your fingerprints all over it!”

Nettie’s eyes balloon to the size of life preservers. “That means I’m the killer!”

Footsteps pound in this direction.

“ Trixie? ” Ransom shouts from the other side of the curtain before making an appearance. He stops short once he spots us, then his eyes drift to the body and he lets a few loose expletives fly. “Is he dead?” He drops to his knee and checks the man for a pulse before calling it in over his phone. “My men are on their way. Wes, why don’t you help cordon off the crime scene? I’ll take it from here.”

Wes shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy, but this is my crime scene. You’re off the clock. Quinn and I can handle it.”

“Quinn broke her arm and medical has requested a medevac to airlift her back to New York. She needs pins put in.”

“What?” Wes hisses. “How did I not know this?”

“I was just on my way to track you down when I heard the commotion.”

A small crowd ambles this way and soon more screams light up the lounge.

“Everyone, step away from the area,” Ransom shouts while holding up his badge. “This is an active crime scene.”

More screams ensue—this time with a lot more terror behind them.

“ My active crime scene,” Wes corrects just above a whisper. “Look, Ransom. You’re on your honeymoon. I don’t care how many people drop dead on this ship, you’re not investigating.” Gasps ensue from the peanut gallery gathering behind us. But Wes ignores them long enough to spin on his heels and point my way. “You either.”

Now it’s me gasping the loudest.

Ransom barks orders into his radio while Wes corrals the growing crowd of curious onlookers and manages to push them back a few feet. And yet their faces press against the velvet curtains like kids at a candy store window—if the candy store specialized in murder.

Tinsley slithers through the crowd like a snake in designer heels. “Well, well,” she muses as she shakes her head down at the corpse. “It looks as if someone’s honeymoon wasn’t enough to hold her interest.” She shoots me a look. “You just couldn’t stand the competition from all those true crime enthusiasts, could you? You just have to prove you’re the brightest and the best when push comes to shoving the knife in someone’s back.”

More gasps ensue from the crowd amassing around us like a wall of judgmental—well, true crime enthusiasts.

Don’t these people have a cold case to stalk? I sigh at the thought, considering the case at my feet is growing colder by the second.

“What’s happening?” a shrill voice shouts and breaks up the discourse and we turn to see Elvie trot up. The poor woman squints down at the body for a moment too long before taking in a lung full of air that never seems to end.

“Oh my goodness,” Elvie groans as if she were just kicked in the gut, and I bet she feels far worse than that. “Is that my husband?” Her hands fly to her mouth. “Oh, who am I kidding?” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not all that surprised.” She fans herself for a moment. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Let me help you,” Bess says, making her way to the woman. “How about we get you a seat at the bar.”

“Good thinking,” Nettie says, traipsing their way. “That’s the best place on the ship to get a stiff drink. I’m buying.”

Elvie chokes on her words as she casts one last glance at her husband. “I guess this cancels our dinner plans,” she mutters as Bess and Nettie shuttle her off.

“I’ll say,” Elodie scoffs. “Someone just canceled all of that man’s plans forever.”

Reed materializes from the crowd and bustles his way over.

“It’s true?” The dark-haired man looks momentarily confused as he does his best to quickly take in the scene. His eyes dart from Brad’s face to the knife. “What the heck happened?” He shakes his head. “Where’s Elvie? She shouldn’t have to see this. Elvie? ” he calls out as he quickly makes his way back into the lounge.”

“He’s right.” Tinsley closes her eyes for a moment. “And I don’t want to see it either. I’d better go check on Elvie as well.”

She takes off, and in the murky darkness of the lounge, I spot Becky Lee. Her face has gone ghost-white, hands trembling as she clutches that tote bag slung from her shoulder as if it were a life preserver. Her face crumbles once she spots the body and her entire body proceeds to shake. And sadly, I’m sure that’s a perfectly natural reaction to finding your friend with a knife in his back. She turns away quickly before disappearing into the sea of onlookers.

Soon enough, the entire security brigade has descended upon us and have pushed the onlookers back into the lounge.

Elodie takes off to tend to the Queen’s Mall because, despite the fact we have a body on our hands here in the lounge, the rest of the ship must go on.

Ransom comes my way with his jaw set tight. “Are you okay?” He wraps his arms around me as he pulls me to the side.

“Yes, I’m fine, I promise,” I say.

“Good. Now please go back to our cabin.”

“You didn’t even ask if I found the body.”

“I didn’t need to.” His voice softens just a fraction, and despite everything, my heart does a little flip. “When do you not find the body?”

“You have a point.” I make a face because I’m not pleased with that particular point.

We share a quick kiss before he heads back to the scene of the crime, and I’m about to leave when I spot something catching the light just shy of Brad Whipple’s waist.

I take a step in that direction when the object comes into focus and I gasp.

I’m about to point it out when Ransom snaps a few pictures of it before placing that rhinestone lipstick brooch into an evidence bag.

Oh my word! I know exactly who that lipstick brooch belongs to!

Ransom and his crew get right to work as they continue to document the scene.

“Trixie.” Wes comes my way and offers me a quick embrace. “I’m sorry, but this investigation ends here for you.”

I pull back and I can’t seem to say a word. Instead, I head for the exit and push my way past the steady current of curious passengers.

Wes thinks this should be the end of my investigation, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.