Wes’s lobster risotto with saffron and microgreens looks like golden treasure scattered with emerald confetti, while Bess’s duck confit with some sort of cherry sauce resembles something a French chef would paint if they moonlighted as an artist.
Nettie’s lamb rack with rosemary crust and ratatouille sits like a crown surrounded by a rainbow of perfectly diced vegetables that probably required tweezers to arrange. They really are that small. We’ll be forced to hit the buffet afterward, but the company is worth it.
No sooner do we gobble down every last bite—there were aboutthree—than dessert shows up as the grand finale to our culinary parade. My Aztec chocolate tart with maple granola looks like it was crafted by pastry angels working overtime, while Nettie’s Meyer lemon tartlet practically glows with citrus perfection. Everyone else got the chocolate mousse, because apparently, we’re all stress eating at this point.
“If I keel over tonight,” Nettie announces around a forkful of lemon heaven, “let the record show this meal was worth the cardiac risk.”
Wes looks up from his dessert as if he’s about to make a decision that will either solve digestive problems or create bigger ones. “Are you ladies planning the Stonehenge excursion tomorrow? It’s a popular trip. Both our feuding groups booked it.”
Ransom’s fork hits his plate like a gavel. “Wes, you’re practically gift-wrapping my wife for a killer.”
Wes meets his glare with the kind of steady confidence that probably helps him navigate hurricanes and homicides with equal skill. “I want this case solved, which is more than your security team’s managed so far. Trixie is the most effective detective on this ship.”
Nettie and Bess erupt in applause as if I’ve just won an Emmy for Outstanding Performance in Amateur Sleuthing with a Side of Accidental Corpse Discovery.
“It’s about time someone acknowledged your talent,” Nettie declares, raising her wine glass as if she’s toasting my Nobel Prize. “You’re like Hercule Poirot, but with better hair and more sarcasm.”
“Don’t worry, Ransom.” Bess lifts her glass with just as much confidence. “Nettie and I will babysit her. I promise to keep her out of trouble and away from any suspicious chocolate fountains.” She gives Nettie the side-eye because, let’s face it, we can’t make any promises when it comes to our cantankerous gray-headed bestie.
Okay, fine. I, too, have a dicey history with chocolate fountains, although that’s mostly Nettie’s fault.
Ransom’s expression suggests he’s calculating the probability of disaster on an international scale. “I can’t decide what terrifies me more—my wife interrogating murder suspects or you three accidentally demolishing a UNESCO WorldHeritage Site.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Nettie says with faux-wounded dignity.
It’s always her go-to answer when he says that. And it’s always true.
“Stonehenge doesn’t stand a chance,” Ransom mutters into his wine glass.
“Neither does our killer,” I announce, lifting my glass with the kind of confidence that either solves mysteries or lands me in international headlines with very unflattering photos.
Wes tips his head toward Ransom with tactful grace. “I’ll be chaperoning the excursion personally. All three ladies will return to the ship intact, no body bags required.”
Ransom growls in response. Something tells me he finds this promise less than comforting and possibly overly optimistic. Let’s be real, so do I.
“Though I can’t make any guarantees about the ancient monuments.” Wes’s mouth twitches with amusement. “Insurance doesn’t cover acts of Trixie.”
“Watch it,” I tease his way. “Rumor has it, there’s a plank on this ship of yours.”
“Mutiny already?” Wes chuckles. “We haven’t even left port yet.”
“Give her time,” Ransom says. “She’s just getting warmed up.”
“Think of it as early retirement,” Nettie adds.
Bess nods. “With a very dramatic exit strategy.”
As we toast tomorrow’s adventure, I can’t shake the feeling we’re about to discover that some stones are better left unturned—and some secrets are worth killing for.
Turns out, the real historical significance is the murder rate that follows my travel plans.
CHAPTER 7
Suddenly Hitched—What a Trip!
Hello, Trixie!
I’m a widow in my seventies planning my first solo cruise for Valentine’s Day, and I’m equal parts excited and terrified! My late husband and I always talked about taking a cruise someday, and now I’m finally doing it for both of us. But I’m worried about dining alone, looking pathetic at all the romantic events, and honestly? The thought of meeting someone new at my age seems both thrilling and absolutely ridiculous. Should I just hide in my cabin with room service and movies or brave the Valentine’s festivities? Help a nervous newbie navigate the waters of solo cruising!
