We dive right into the spicy treats, despite the fact we’re about to dive right into an equally spicy topic.
“These pot stickers are incredible,” Wes says with a moan while attacking his appetizer with the enthusiasm of a man who doesn’t yet know his evening is about to take a hard left turn into Scandalville. Oh heck, he probably knows that at the least.
“Everything is incredible when you’ve yet to hear information that’ll make you realize ignorance really is bliss,” I mutter, which gets me raised eyebrows from Wes and delighted giggles from Elodie. So unnerving.
“Is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Wes sighs hard because, let’s face it, he’s already sensing disaster on the horizon.
I take a fortifying sip of wine and suddenly wish I could down the whole bottle. “Those door magnets aren’t just Valentine’s decorations, Wes.”
“They’re signals,” Ransom adds with the gravity of someone delivering news about a flesh-colored natural disaster.
“Signals for what?” Wes asks, though something in his captain’s intuition is clearly preparing for the worst.
“The Crimson Key Society,” I announce like someone about to rip off a bandage comprised of awkwardness. “Wes, those people aren’t just progressive relationship therapists or enthusiasts.”
Elodie leans forward with anticipation as if watching her favorite movie reach its climactic scene.
“They’re swingers,” I say, ripping the frisky, risky bandage off.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“They’rewhat now?” Wes’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth, and I have a feeling he just lost his appetite. I should have waited until he enjoyed his meal.
“Swingers,” Ransom delivers the word clinically as if he were a doctor relaying a particularly bad diagnosis—one riddled with STDs, no doubt. “Key parties, partner swapping, the whole lifestyle.”
Wes’s fork clatters against his plate with the finality of a gavel. “OnMYship?”
“Oh, this is even better than I imagined!” Elodie bounces up and down in her seat as if she won a very naughty prize. “Look at his face! It’s like watching someone discover their grandmother has a secret career in exotic dancing.”
“Eww,” I say, dipping my fingertips into my water and flicking it at her as punishment. And she only seems to grin all that much harder. She’s twisted that way.
Our entrées arrive with perfect timing, giving Wes a moment to process information that’s probably violating several maritime regulations and definitely violating his peace of mind. My sweet and sour chicken gleams like stained glass windows, while Ransom’s Peking duck is arranged with artistic precision that somehow mirrors his methodical approach to criminal investigation.
Wes’s Szechuan beef looks like it could fight back, swimming in sauce that probably has its own weapons permit, while Elodie’s honey walnut prawns glisten like edible jewelry designed by someone with expensive taste and questionable morals—much like Elodie herself.
“So let me get this straight,” Wes growls. “We have a murder victim who was leading a swingers’ organization, a traditional marriage counselor who wanted said victim dead, and somewhere between fifty and a hundred passengers engaged in activities that probably violate our terms of service.”
“That’s the general idea,” I confirm, attacking my chicken with unnecessary fervor. And Iknewit violated the terms of service.
“And how exactly did you discover this delightful information?”
“Elodie’s therapeutic research,” Ransom explains with just enough emphasis to make it clear that therapy had very little to do with it.
“I prefer to think of it as hands-on investigative journalism,” Elodie waves off the offense. “However, I have to admit, the hands-on aspect was more educational than I expected.”
“I need a drink,” Wes mutters. “A big one. Possibly several.”
“You’re drinking wine,” I point out helpfully.
“I need something stronger. Something that erases memories and mayberesets reality.”
“Look at the bright side,” Elodie chirps with enough optimism to prove she finds scandal refreshing instead of horrifying. “At least now we know why someone wanted Lavender dead. Running a floating lifestyle convention probably creates more enemies than friends, especially when some of those friends are sharing more than just emotional support.”
She does bring up a good point.
“Speaking of enemies,” Ransom leans forward with that serious expression that means we’re shifting from spicy dinner conversation to a bitter murder investigation, “Rex Hartwell’s name has come up a few times.”
“Rex?” Wes’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “Silver fox Rex, who’s been monopolizing Bess’s time?”
