Page 7

CHAPTER 7

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

A hoy, pleasure seekers! While our lovely Trixie is conducting a very thorough investigation of the honeymoon suite’s structural integrity with that dreamy head of security, let’s address another burning question from our mailbag.

Dear Elodie,

My husband and I booked the Captain’s Table for formal night, but I have no idea what to wear! The dress code says elegant formal attire , but how formal is too formal? And how elegant is too elegant?

Dress Code Distressed

Dear Distressed,

The real question isn’t how formal is too formal, but rather how much attention do you want your husband (and every other eye in the dining room) to pay to your... elegant assets ?

My personal rule is if one of the ship’s security guards blushes when you walk by, you’re on the right track. If the ma?tre d' drops a menu, you’ve nailed it. And if your husband can’t remember how to use his spoon? Well, that’s what I call a successful formal night.

Remember—the Captain’s Table might be formal, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. Although do try to keep your hands visible during dessert. We wouldn’t want to scandalize the sommelier. Again.

Sailing seductively,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. If you’re worried about your dress being too revealing, just remember what I always say—the best accessories are confidence and perhaps a strategically placed napkin.

Trixie

The honeymoon suite welcomes me back with the scent of fresh roses and vanilla.

And much to my delight, housekeeping has transformed the space into a virtual romantic paradise.

A white coverlet strewn with pink and red petals is arranged in a perfect heart, and two swans fashioned out of towels sit with their necks intertwined while perched in the center of the bed like a couple of love-struck teenagers.

The room would be perfect if I wasn’t still haunted by the image of Brad Whipple face-down in the Neptune Lounge.

I hop over to my closet, ready to swap my murder-scene sweatsuit for one of the many honeymoon negligées Elodie gifted me. But when I swing open the doors, I can’t help but notice something odd. And once I realize I’m not hallucinating, I freeze solid. Every last one of my comfy clothes has vanished, replaced by—I pluck at a hanger—an entire litany of jewel-toned cocktail dresses?

“Well played, Elodie Abernathy. Well played.” I glance down at my current wardrobe choices and wince. “I guess she wasn’t kidding when she said I was taking my newly minted marriage to heck in a schlubby handbasket.”

This is what I get for crossing the self-proclaimed queen of ship fashion.

I’m about to send her a playful yet quasi-threatening text when I hear what sounds like someone clearing their throat from behind.

I spin so fast on my heels, my feet feel as if they’re drilling into the carpet.

Two thoughts cross my mind. Either there’s still a member of housekeeping in the room with me or a killer is in the vicinity—within backstabbing distance no less!

But I don’t see a living soul.

Someone giggles—someone who is decidedly not me— and I turn my head toward the right where the sound is coming from and gasp.

A scream gets locked in my throat as I spot the uninvited guest—a luminescent redhead lounging in the velvet desk chair as if she’s posing for a 1940s pin-up calendar. And she would be dressed for that occasion, too, in a short red and white polka-dotted dress, along with black fishnet stockings. Her heart-shaped face is framed with a perfect victory roll sitting over her forehead, and her bow-tie lips are colored in with bright red lipstick. Not to mention that her entire countenance glows with the luminosity of a dying flashlight. Emphasis on the dying considering the fact she’s most likely long since done that.

I belt out a scream.

She belts out a scream.

And then we sort of belt out a unifying scream in perfect harmony.

“You’re a ghost,” I hiss as I step closer, while my heart does its best to turn me into a ghost as well. “Oh my goodness! I knew it! You’re the woman I saw in the window! And then I saw you again in the casino earlier this evening.”

“That would be me.” She gives a cheeky wink as she says it. “So where is that handsome hubby of yours, anyway?” She cranes her neck toward the door. “I was rather enjoying the naughty show earlier.”

I gasp and gag all at once, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and hurling it right through her head. “You may not hover around the vicinity when I’m—when we’re —when you know what is happening. That’s not why you’re here.”

“Speaking of why I’m here.” She leans forward and her eyes sparkle like a gossip columnist who just found dirt on the mayor. I’d say the captain, but I know for a fact there’s no dirt to be had on Wes. “Who bit the big one? Was it Elvie?” She gives an eager nod and that alone makes me wince.

“ No . And why would you be so happy if she bit the big one? That’s downright wicked.”

She makes a face. “It’s not wicked. I love Elvie. I was her personal assistant way back when she was just starting out with Luscious and Delicious. In fact, I was one of her first testers. We were the best of friends. Oh, how I miss her.” She sags and nearly melts right out of the chair. “And that’s exactly why I can’t wait to hang out with her again in Paradise. The shopping is divine, the spa treatments are heavenly—literally—and don’t get me started on the eternal happy hour. It’s one long wonderful party. They don’t call it Paradise for nothing.”

“Well, that’s nice that the two of you were so close. But it was actually her husband Brad who passed away—rather unexpectedly.”

“ Oh .” She inches back in her chair. “That’s odd. I thought I heard that the person who perished was someone who loved the ghost that was sent back to help more than they loved anyone.”

As confusing as it sounds, she hit it on the ghostly money.

I step back. “You’re right. Were you having an affair with him?”

I’m not usually so point-blank, but this seems to warrant it. Besides, Ransom could walk through that door any minute now and we have other things to tend to. Far more important things than dissecting the latest ship homicide seven ways to Sunday.

“An affair?” She leans back and manages to look genuinely affronted. “Heck no.” She shakes her head, looking completely baffled by the question. “In fact, I didn’t think he cared for me at all. Every time I was near him, he seemed to leave the room. Eventually, I started to take it personally.”

“That’s odd. Well, clearly he venerated you on some level or you wouldn’t be here. Like you said, the dead that are called back to solve the case are always someone who the deceased loved the most. Rules are rules.”

She shrugs. “I guess that’s just another mystery for us to solve.”

“I guess it is.” I tip my head at her with suspicion. None of this is making sense so far. It seems I’ll not only need to do some digging when it comes to the deceased, but with the deceased before me as well. “So what’s your name?”

I’ll start there.

“Titsiana Genevieve Forenza,” she announces with all of the drama necessary to accept an Oscar. “But you can call me Tits .”

A choking sound emits from my throat. “I’m not calling you anything near that. Try again.”

“Okay, fine. All my friends call me Sassy.” Her shoulders bounce and she giggles with glee. “It’s a nickname I lived up to in both my old life and in the afterlife.”

“I have no doubt. Especially seeing that for the five minutes we’ve been together, you’ve lived up to your name. You are definitely a sassy girl.”

“You know what they say—it takes one to know one, sugar. I think we’re already fast friends.”

The door handle jiggles and my heart leaps into my throat as Ransom steps into the room.

“You’re back,” I practically sing as I run into his arms.

“A herd of wild homicides couldn’t keep me away.” His brows waggle and I thoroughly approve of the naughty implications. “And before you ask, I’m not letting Wes get anywhere near my investigation,” he sighs as he says it. “But I promise I will make time for us. This is still our honeymoon.”

He runs kisses up and down my neck as if to prove his point and I can’t help but giggle—only my giggles seem to be echoing to my right and I glance that way to find that ghost with the victory rolls clapping and pumping her fist as if cheering me on.

“You go, girl! You get some of that red-hot sugar!” She laughs as if she were about to get something out of the equation, too—like entertainment. “I can’t wait to see the show!”

My mouth falls open and I pull Ransom closer before making crazy eyes at our spectral voyeur from over his shoulder. I’m hoping she’ll take the hint, but she only seems to settle deeper into the plush velvet seat she’s parked herself on.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I growl under my breath.

“What’s that?” Ransom asks, hardly coming up for air as he nibbles on my ear. “Sorry, did I bite too hard?”

“Oh no.” I perk up unexpectedly. “You keep doing what you’re doing. I’m here for you to snack on anytime you want.”

Sassy gives an ear-to-ear grin when I say it and I can’t help but glare at her because of it.

Horror upon horror, it’s becoming clear she’s not moving a ghostly muscle.

I clear my throat as I pull back to get a better look at my handsome plus-one.

“Maybe we should turn out the lights?” I suggest, walking us backward until I locate the switch and do just that. But Sassy only glows brighter, like a supernatural spotlight sitting in the corner—a spotlight only I can see.

Ransom carries me to the bed, and between his kisses I try to wave off our uninvited guest, but the stubborn spirit refuses to budge.

“Oh, good grief,” I mutter.

Ransom pulls back. “Trixie, is something wrong?”

“No, no! Nothing is wrong, I promise.” Oh my goodness. I cannot let this peeping phantom ruin my honeymoon. It’s bad enough a killer has already left an indelible deadly mark on it. “I was just, um, cold. How about we dive under the covers for this round?”

“Anything and everything for you,” he murmurs as his lips get back to washing me with kisses.

But apparently, blankets are no deterrent to the supernatural surveillance at hand. Sassy stays all night long, and even though the lights are out, her running commentary suggests her spectral night vision works just fine.

I guess solving a homicide isn’t the only thing I’ll have to deal with on this honeymoon. Now I’ve got a voyeuristic ghost who refuses to vacate the premises.

But I know all too well that solving the homicide will solve my little ghostly dilemma as well.

It turns out, there are worse things than a haunted homicide—like a haunted honeymoon suite with an audience.