Behind us, the Love Connection Speed Dating Carousel continues in full swing, with Nettie currently holding court at the Design Your Dream Date station like a romantic empress addressing her subjects.
She’s got approximately six gentlemen in various stages of romantic desperation hanging on her every word as she explains her ideal evening, which apparently involves both fine dining and extreme sports. That’s so Nettie.
“Of course, please,” Rex says, though his usual silver-fox confidence seems slightly tarnished around the edges.
The afternoon air carries the intoxicating aroma of grilled burgers and golden fries sizzling on the deck barbecue stations, mixing with the salt breeze and whatever industrial-strength romantic optimism is wafting from the speed dating chaos behind us.
The sound of grills crackling mingles with romantic music and nervous laughter, while Valentine’s decorations flutter in the sea breeze like Cupid’s surrender flags refusing to give up the fight.
Rex has positioned himself—and me, by proxy—in a quieter seating area near the ship’s railing, where the promenade deck curves away from the main romantic battlefield. The afternoon sun filters through the ship’s awnings, casting everything in that golden light that makes even questionable life choices look social media-worthy.
“This is quite the production.” Rex laughs, nodding toward the Love Connection Speed Dating Carousel where Nettie has now moved to the Speed Compliments station and appears to be receiving a standing ovation from her current group of admirers. “I haven’t seen organization like this since the military, and frankly, this looks more dangerous.”
“My friend Nettie is in her element,” I reply, watching my octogenarian friend gesture with the enthusiasm as if she’s discovered her calling in competitive romance. “She approaches dating like it’s a competitive sport, and honestly, she’s winning. I think she’s already collected more phone numbers than a telemarketer.”
A crew member materializes beside us like a uniformed food fairy, carrying a tray of steaming clam chowder bowls. “Complimentary chowder, folks?”
“Of course,” I say, because I’ve never met a free meal I wouldn’t accept, especially one that comes with the perfect excuse to extend this conversation. I trade my empty bowl for a fresh one brimming with creamy goodness.
“With glee!” Rex is quick to accept his bowl as well. I can’t help but make a face. Any man who loves chowder can’t be all that bad, can he? And he certainly can’t be a killer. I hope.
He moans through his first bite. “This is why I love cruise ships—unlimited food, unlimited entertainment, and unlimited opportunities to make questionable decisions when it comes to my cholesterol levels.”
Perfect. A man who admits to questionable decisions is exactly the kind of man I need to interrogate about potentially homicidalactivities.
A constellation of tiny red stars materializes beside Rex’s chair, and Richard the Ghost makes his appearance like the world’s most melancholy party crasher. He looks even more distinguished in death than he probably did in life, wearing that same cozy sweater that makes him look like someone’s favorite professor who happened to die under mysterious circumstances.
“Well, this is interesting,” Richard says, settling into a spectral position slightly above us where he can observe both Rex and me. “I didn’t expect to see Rex here.”
Neither did I, but I’m sure glad about it.
“So,” I begin, stirring my chowder as if I were making small talk instead of conducting an investigation, “what brings you on this particular Valentine’s cruise? Seems like an interesting choice for a single gentleman.”
Rex’s laugh carries just enough genuine warmth to make me wonder if my suspicious nature is working overtime. “I wasn’t exactly single when I booked it. Lavender Voss invited me. She was a friend, and I’ve been her personal pilot for years. When she suggested I join this cruise, I couldn’t refuse.”
“Her pilot?” Richard’s ghostly eyebrows climb toward his ethereal hairline. “I didn’t know Lavender had a personal pilot. Though I suppose there’s a lot about my wife I didn’t know. I knew they were friends, though.”
“Wow, a personal pilot sounds very exclusive,” I observe, taking a spoonful of chowder that tastes like liquid comfort with a side of maritime luxury.
“Lavender did like to travel in style,” Rex explains with a fond smile as if remembering a good friend instead of a murder victim. “She had speaking engagements all over the country, seminars, and workshops. I’ve been flying her around for about five years now.”
“Did you know about her work?” I ask, testing the waters like someone checking the temperature before diving into the deep end of a potentially incriminating conversation.
Rex shrugs as if he’s never paid much attention to the details. “She gave me a book once, something about modern relationships, but I’m not much of a reader. I just got us to where we needed to be and minded my own business.”
“Smart man,” Richard mutters. “I should have minded my own business, too.”
“And now you’ve met Bess,” I continue, watching Rex’s entire demeanor shift as if I’ve just turned on a romantic spotlight in his head.
“Ah, my Bessie,” he sighs with far too much contentment.
His Bessie?My internal alarm system starts goes off like a burglar alarm at a jewelry store. This is serious. This isplanning to relocate to Montanaserious.
“She is quite something,” I agree, although part of me wants to remind him that Bessie belongs toourtrio first and Montana cowboys second—or never.
“She is remarkable,” Rex says with the kind of genuine admiration that makes it hard to suspect him of homicidal tendencies. “Smart, funny, independent. At our age, finding someone who makes you laugh every day is worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox.”
He does have a point, but still. I’m not liking it.
