CHAPTER 30
“Well,” I announce as Ransom and I step back into the Valentine’s Grand Soirée in the Royal Ballroom. “Nothing quite says romantic evening like surviving an attempted murder and living to tell about it.”
“And here I thought the biggest threat tonight would be my dancing,” Ransom deadpans.
“Very funny,” I say, pulling him close and slow dancing with him whether he likes it or not. And judging by the way he’s running kisses up my cheek, he’s not about to complain.
The music is moody, the dessert buffet has been deliciously restocked, and throngs of people have escalated things romantically to the point where someone should announceget a roomover the PA system.
“There’s our welcoming committee.” Ransom nods toward a cluster of familiar faces near the champagne fountain.
Wes spots us first and quickly approaches us with Elodie, Tinsley, and Nettie flanking him like a support group for people whose friends have dangerous hobbies.
“Thank goodness you’re safe,” Wes says as he pulls me in without hesitation—despite the fact Ransom isn’t letting go. “Quinn just briefed me about the overboard incident.”
“It’s true,” Ransom confirms with morbid gravity. But hey, he’s just witnessed his wife’s magnetic attraction to homicidal activitiesfirsthand. “Someone tried to introduce her to the Atlantic Ocean on a permanent basis.”
“I’m fine, really,” I say quickly. “And, Elodie, thank you for those wicked heels. They literally saved my life.”
Elodie offers a wicked smile in response. “I’ve always maintained that stilettos are a woman’s best defense—whether against bad fashion choices or attempted homicide. It’s all about the right tool for the job.”
Tinsley frowns at me. “Good work not becoming another casualty around here. I was starting to think you had a death wish disguised as a hobby, and I still do.” She glances around the ballroom with the hunting instincts of a cruise director tracking down romantic prey. “Now, where did my Valentine’s date disappear to? There he is?—”
She points toward Rob Stone, who’s currently engaged in what appears to be a deep philosophical discussion with a potted palm, most likely about cosmic energy alignment.
Wes, Ransom, and I emit synchronized groans that could register on seismic equipment.
“It’s been Rob who’s been wooing you this whole time?” I ask, genuinely surprised by this plot twist in Tinsley’s love life.
Tinsley preens like a peacock who’s just discovered mirrors. “I can see you’re all green with envy over the distinguished gentleman I’ve managed to attract. Not everyone can appreciate a man with spiritual depth and therapeutic hands.”
I open my mouth to deliver the devastating news about her cosmic Casanova, but Elodie raises one perfectly manicured hand like a traffic cop with excellent timing.
“Allow me to enlighten you, sweetie,” she purrs as she’s about to detonate a gossip bomb. “Your spiritually gifted Romeo? He’s the welcome wagon for the wife-swapping committee. Turns out, those therapeutic hands have been making the rounds.”
Tinsley’s eyes bulge like someone just informed her that her organic kale smoothie contained actual vegetables. She starts gagging and rubbing her tongue against her arm with enough desperation to scrub away the memory of any cosmic enlightenment he may haveinflicted on her.
“I kissed him!” she gasps between retching sounds. “I need industrial-strength mouthwash and possibly a full-body decontamination chamber.”
She bolts toward the exit as if her dress is on fire and dignity is overrated.
“Easy come, easy go,” Nettie howls out a laugh. “Though I suppose that’s the whole point with that crowd—sharing is caring and all that jazz.”
“Jazz, indeed,” I say, shooting a look to the exit before turning back to Nettie. “Before I forget, Richard wanted me to give you a special goodbye. He said to tell you that meeting you was the highlight of his afterlife.”
I decided to leave out the part about him mentioning he’ll see her soon. Some information is better delivered by the cosmos than by amateur sleuths with questionable communication skills.
Nettie’s smile carries just enough melancholy to make supernatural romance seem perfectly reasonable. “Easy come, easy go in the afterlife, too, I suppose. Death doesn’t exactly come with relationship guarantees.” She straightens with renewed purpose. “I think I’ll hit the buffet in his honor. That ghost had excellent taste in both women and chocolate fountains.”
She trots off toward the dessert displays like a woman on a mission to honor love through carbohydrate consumption.
“Well, the night is still young, and so are my heels,” Elodie announces, checking her reflection in a nearby champagne flute. “Don’t break an ankle, darling.” She winks at me before gliding away toward whatever romantic chaos awaits her next victim.
Ransom spots a cluster of his security officers near the ballroom entrance, and their body language suggests that someone’s evening is about to get significantly more complicated.
“I should brief my team,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. “Be right back. Try not to solve any murders while I’m gone.”
“No promises,” I call after him, though my track record suggests that’s exactly what’s about to happen.
