“You’d be amazed,” Jazz continues with enthusiasm as if she’s found her calling in destroying conventionalmarriage, “how many so-called ‘traditional’ couples are secretly curious about exploration. Even some of Claudette’s marriage counseling clients have joined us—although they’d never admit it publicly, of course.”
My sleuthing radar starts pinging like a car alarm at three A.M.
“Really?” I ask, trying not to sound scandalized, though my brain is already filing this information under potentially case-breaking revelations.
“Oh yes.” Jazz leans in, and her chunky jewelry creates its own percussion section as she moves. “In fact, that poor man with the forehead tattoo? Mark Sterling? He was one of Lavender’s most enthusiastic participants before his wife cracked down on his personal growth journey.”
The temperature in the suite suddenly feels approximately twenty degrees hotter, and not just from all the body heat generated by recreational activities.
Before I can process this bombshell fully, a Zen-master-meets-beach-bum materializes beside Jazz like smoke from a cosmic campfire.
“This must be the beautiful couple you’ve been telling me about,” he says in a voice that sounds like it’s been marinated in meditation retreats and questionable herbal supplements. “I’m Rob Stone, Jazz’s cosmic partner and energy guide. The universe has clearly brought you here for karmic reasons.”
Rob Stone looks exactly like someone who’d use the phrasecosmic partnerwithout irony—sandy hair that suggests regular encounters with hemp products, enough jewelry to stock a small metaphysical store, and the kind of Zen smile that makes you wonder what he’s been smoking and where you can get some.
“Rob specializes in therapeutic massage,” Jazz explains, and I catch Ransom’s expression shift from polite terror to something bordering on rage. “He’s incredibly gifted at helping people release physical and emotional tension through targeted bodywork.”
“The human form is a temple of energy,” Rob adds with cosmic confidence as his gaze settles on me with uncomfortable intensity. “I can sense incredible tension in your aura—you’re carrying the weight of unresolved conflicts in your chakra system.”
Ransom taps his weapon with his elbow as if checking to see if it’s still hiding out beneath his suit jacket.
“My chakras are fine, thanks,” I reply firmly, shutting down his unwanted therapeutic advances.
But Rob has apparently decided I’m his evening project. “Please, let me show you our meditation space. The balcony has incredible ocean energy for cleansing blocked pathways.”
Before I can protest, he’s guiding me toward the suite’s sliding doors like he’s on a mission from the universe itself, while Jazz smoothly intercepts Ransom with the efficiency of a well-orchestrated military operation.
“Come meet some of our more experienced community members,” she tells my husband, steering him toward a group of women who immediately swarm him like designer-dressed vultures who’ve spotted particularly attractive prey. “They’re always eager to share their insights about expanded relationship dynamics.”
“Trixie—” Ransom calls out, but his voice is quickly drowned by female laughter that sounds less like conversation and more like hunting calls from predators who’ve cornered their preferred meal.
The balcony hits me with cool ocean air that feels like salvation after the overheated atmosphere inside, though the trade-off is being alone with Rob and his cosmic agenda and possibly his entire collection of hemp-based philosophical theories. Meanwhile, Ransom is inside being attacked by who knows who and their boobs.
“The sea holds such cleansing energy,” he says, settling into the lotus position like we’re about to conduct a séance instead of having a conversation about murder and adultery. “Perfect for releasing the barriers society has constructed around authentic connection.”
“Right,” I reply, keeping one eye on the sliding doors in case I need to make a tactical retreat. “About those barriers—you mentioned Mark Sterling was exploring alternatives?”
Rob’s Zen smile widens as if I’ve just asked about his favorite spiritual practice. “Mark was a beautiful example of someone transcending conventional limitations. He and Lavender shared such a profound connection—their energy work sessions were absolutelytransformative.”
My detective brain starts doing victory laps around the meditation cushions.
“Energy work sessions?” I probe, trying to sound casually curious instead of professionally fascinated.
“Their affair transcended traditional boundaries,” Rob continues casually, like he’s discussing a grocery list instead of relationship-destroying infidelity. “The universe brought them together for karmic healing—but sadly, Claudette’s rigid programming prevented her from embracing the gift they were offering.”
Holy mother of marital meltdowns and cosmic justifications for adultery. Mark Sterling didn’t just dabble in the lifestyle—he had a full-blown affair with Lavender Voss, the woman his wife just publicly threatened to murder using language that would make sailors blush.
“That must have been difficult for everyone involved,” I manage, mentally updating my suspect list with the efficiency of a woman whose hobby is accidentally solving homicides.
“Claudette’s discovery was... let’s just say it was explosive,” Rob says as an understatement, sort of like describing nuclear warfare as a minor disagreement. “She found out about Mark and Lavender not too long before booking this cruise. Talk about cosmic timing, right?”
The pieces of this murder puzzle are rearranging themselves in my brain like furniture in an earthquake. Claudette didn’t just have professional reasons to want Lavender dead—she had deeply personal, marriage-destroying, career-threatening reasons.
A shriek from inside the suite cuts through Rob’s cosmic revelations like a chainsaw through silk.
“Your wife is so lucky,” one woman cries. “You have such strong masculine energy!” comes a chorus of female voices that sound less like compliments and more like battle cries from an army of women who’ve declared war on conventional marriage boundaries.
I peer through the sliding doors to see Ransom surrounded by approximately five women who appear to be conducting a hands-on seminar about the benefits of alternative relationship structures. My husband looks like a deer caught in headlights—headlights that are operated by predators with excellent manicures and questionableboundaries, and possibly advanced degrees in husband-hunting.
