Page 9

CHAPTER 9

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

W elcome back, maritime adventurers! While our favorite newlyweds are still gathering evidence in their suite (and honestly, who can blame them with those ocean views—and views of each other), let’s tackle another pressing question.

Dear Elodie,

Help! I signed up for the midnight stargazing class on deck, but I’m worried it might be boring. Any suggestions for making it more interesting?

Starboard Stargazer

Oh honey,

Trust me, there is nothing boring about being out on deck after dark. The sea breeze, the moonlight, those strategically placed lounge chairs… Stargazing is all about positioning, my love.

While the astronomer drones on about constellations, you could be conducting your own study of heavenly bodies. Just remember that the ship’s telescopes are for celestial observations only—although I’ve heard the security cameras have excellent night vision. Beware.

Pro tip: Those plush deck blankets they provide aren’t just for warmth. Though you might want to request a fresh one. Just saying.

Twinkling and Tantalizing,

XOXO Elodie

P.S. If the crew asks, you definitely saw the Big Dipper. Whether you were looking up at the time is irrelevant.

Trixie

“So let me get this straight,” Bess says as the two of us, along with Nettie, make our way to the Coral Crown Lounge. “Your ghostly friend spent the entire night critiquing your honeymoon performance?”

“Like she was judging the Olympics,” I confirm, still mortified. “Complete with numerical scores and style points.”

“Did you at least get a perfect ten?” Nettie asks as her gray hair bounces with each step.

“No, but she did give us extra credit for artistic interpretation,” I admit, sending both women into a fit of laughter that echoes down the corridor.

I’d laugh, too, if the thought of entertaining the dead on my honeymoon didn’t make me want to cry.

The Coral Crown Lounge sparkles like a fairy tale come to life. The crystal chandeliers glimmer like stars across the seafoam green walls. Rows and rows of tables are set out with lavender linens, and there’s an arrangement of white orchids floating in mercury glass bowls set on each and every one of them.

It all looks as elegant as elegant can be.

The floor-to-ceiling windows to the right expose the cobalt sea, and out near the horizon there’s another cruise ship about to pass us by. The crew always considers that good luck. And heaven knows the Emerald Queen could use a healthy dose of luck these days.

A sign near the door, written in swooping rose-gold font, announces Where Beauty Meets Brunch—Prepare to be Deliciously Transformed. Below that, added in smaller text, it reads Warning: Side effects may include feeling irresistible .

“Well, that sounds promising,” Bess mutters. “Although on this ship, the word irresistible usually segues into a homicide investigation.”

Nettie nods. “Desserts, a makeover, and murder. What more could a woman ask for?” She bumps her shoulder into Bess. “And here you were afraid a transatlantic cruise would be boring.”

“I would never say such a thing about an adventure on the Emerald Queen ,” Bess corrects. “Not out loud anyway.”

“ Eh , you were loaded to the hilt with truth serum when you said it,” Nettie explains.

I nod to Bess. “And that’s exactly why I don’t drink.”

The scent of something sugar-sweet layered with the scent of fruit intoxicates our senses and it mingles with the scent of expensive perfume, while Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 5” hums over the speakers.

Women in everything from sundresses to sequins mill about, examining the elaborate display tables with the kind of intensity usually reserved for crime scenes. Okay, so maybe I’m projecting, but it’s the exact intensity that I myself put into a crime scene.

What can I say? I’m dedicated to my craft.

Speaking of crime scenes, the buffet stretches along one wall like a pastel paradise brimming with towers of macarons in every shade of springtime, petit fours topped with flowers made of sugar, chocolate-dipped strawberries are nestled in edible glitter, and a row of smoothies is set out in citrine hues that would make a tropical sunset jealous.

“Twenty bucks says at least one of these desserts is poisoned,” Nettie whispers as we make our way toward the buffet line.

“What makes you say that?” I ask, stunned she’d tempt fate by verbalizing the nightmare scenario. Lord knows we have enough of those playing out as it is.

“We brought you, didn’t we?” She no sooner says the words than both she and Bess burst out with a laugh.

“Very funny, ladies.” I shoot a wry look to the rest of the room and spot Elvie Whipple dressed in a bright pink gown as she and a few other women load her products onto a table.

It’s nice to know my prime suspect won’t be going anywhere soon.

“Come on, girls,” Bess says, steering us to the left. “This buffet isn’t going to eat itself.”

We head on over and find Elodie already working her way through the spread, loading a sampler plate with everything in sight, and she even has a pink smoothie precariously balanced in her other hand.

“ You ,” I say, sharper than intended. Oh heck, who am I kidding? I very much intended it. “Here, let me help you,” I say, momentarily breaking faith with my ire to take the smoothie from her before it hits the floor.

“What about me?” Elodie winks and wiggles her shoulders in her crisp white blouse and navy pencil skirt that looks as if it were painted on. Easy for her to look business-casual—no one threw away her entire closet in the night.

“I have a bone to pick with you,” I say, still miffed about her wardrobe heist. “And you know exactly what it’s about.” I wiggle my own shoulders in an effort to exemplify the white fuzzy stole pinned over my shoulders.

“The only bones you should be picking are in your husband’s direction,” Nettie chimes in and earns an elbow to the ribs from Bess.

Elodie bubbles out a laugh. “Oh, Trixie, don’t be silly. Nettie is right. And stop being so dramatic. You look fabulous in that evening gown.”

“Maybe so, but it’s not yet noon,” I point out, adjusting my stole for the hundredth time. “I look like I got my formal night mixed up.”

“Oh hush.” Elodie snatches her smoothie from me. “Nothing says Breakfast at Tiffany’s like full formal gear. And if you’re lucky, Ransom will shower you with diamonds because of it. It’s win- win .” She takes a quick sip of her drink. “And baubles aside, you’re the best-dressed woman in the room.” She nods to my rather regal attire. “By the way, that shade of navy really brings out the wicked witch in your eyes.”

“Better a wicked witch than a wardrobe thief,” I mutter, but that just makes her grin all that much more.

Bess and Nettie dissolve into cackles as they pile their plates with pastel confections, creating towers worthy of an anxiety-riddled Jenga game.

Elodie leans past me and her eyes light up like a kid spotting an ice cream truck. “Hold on to your wicked thoughts. I see Mrs. Whipple over there. I think I’ll go help her lay out the goods. She’s letting me sell whatever doesn’t move today in the ship’s boutique. And I’m already in love with her products.” She casts another glance my way. “I’ve sent up a basket filled with Luscious and Delicious lotions and potions to your room. Everything is edible and can be placed anywhere on the human body. Do I need to draw a map for you?”

“No,” I say in haste before she decides to do it anyway. “I think I can figure out the logistics.”

“Draw a map for me ,” Nettie pipes up, but Elodie simply ignores her as she takes off.

“Drats.” Nettie snaps her fingers in dismay. “Just when we were getting to the good part.”

“ Please .” Bess shakes her head. “You’ve got decades and a mile-long list of men on her. You should be the one drawing a map for Elodie. Besides, we’re here to question a suspect, not give a dissertation on what goes where in the bedroom.”

“Don’t forget which lotions and potions to use to get you there,” Nettie adds with a wiggle of her brows and it’s enough to make a grown woman blush. Although not one in our immediate circle.

Bess gives me a nudge. “Why don’t you join Elodie? She can talk shop with the woman while you talk murder.”

I frown at the thought. “I think I’d rather corner Elvie on my own. Besides, we all know there’s no competing with Elodie when it comes to stealing the attention of men or women.”

“She could sell ice to penguins,” Nettie agrees. “And probably convince them they needed matching scarves.”

“And she did call you a wicked witch,” Bess teases. “Although, let’s be honest, I’m betting your broom gets more action than hers these days.”

“You would think,” I mutter as thoughts of that Sassy disembodied busybody comes to mind.

“Well, we both seem to have a reason to talk to Elvie, so I suppose we have more than just our transportation options in common.” I snap up a plate and am about to hit the buffet hard when a certain cruise director with a mane full of chestnut locks stomps our way.

I sigh at the sight of her. “Speaking of wicked witches.”

Something tells me this beauty brunch is about to get ugly. Good thing I have experience with both murder and makeovers—although honestly, the makeovers are usually more dangerous. At least with murder, you know who your enemies are.

I glance over to where Elodie is chatting with Elvie.

It’s almost time to see what secrets are hiding behind all that luxury lipstick. After all, in my experience, the prettier the package, the deadlier the contents.